Ashes to Dust
by LaurelSilver
Summary: After a flashback of angsty nostalgia and painfully happy flashbacks, Ivan is replaced by Nikolai; his second player counterpart with much more drive and much less friendly childishness than Ivan, but shares his goals of the world becoming one with Mother Russia.
1. Ivan to Nikolai

"Germany! I have some terrible news!"

Ivan Braginski, otherwise known as Russia, bursts into Ludwig's office, startling the tired German and knocking a stack of papers over.

Ludwig sighs, vein in his forehead twitching and pulsing, "What is this terrible news?"

"Italy is our only ally!" Ivan says, cheery smile dropped in worry, "What are we supposed to do?!"

Ludwig pauses, thinking, "Make sure we have pasta," he says, "And kitchen cleaning supplies, but the pasta is a priority. And hide the grenades!"

"What about his brother?" Ivan asks, cheery smile returning.

"Lock him in a crate and send him to Antonio," Ludwig says simply, "Make sure to give him plenty of tomatoes so he doesn't starve, and a few bottles of wine so he's too drunk to kill Antonio when the stupid Spaniard lets him out. And gottverdammt, keep him away from the grenades!"

"Can't we just kill them?" and smiles should not be able to get that wide.

"Ah… no, Russland, if they are our allies we have to treat them as such," Ludwig explains slowly, "There will be no killing."

"But I'm not your ally," Ivan says innocently.

"What?"

"I may or may not have lied. You must be tired, Germany, if you forget your allies so easily."

"What?" Ludwig blinks, "Allies? Ich hab' mit der Fiend verbrüdern! Out, verdammt, out! Get out of my house before I shoot you!" he pulls a Luger out of the drawer under his desk, loaded and meticulously clean to ensure immediate hitch-free fire.

"Your fault!" seriously, that smile gets any wider and his lips will be touching his ears!

"Well, if you'd told me you were…" Ludwig trails off, too tired to argue as stubborn and dangerously intelligent as Ivan, "You said Italy was becoming 'our' ally! As in you were an ally to the Fatherland! You tricked me!" the gun clicks as Ludwig pulls the hammer back smoothly

"The Motherland was allied with the Fatherland until the Fatherland tried to invade the Motherland, and then we had to separate," Ivan says cheerily, "The poor kids."

"You invaded Gilbert!" Ludwig snaps back.

"We shared Feliks!" and that smile gets even wider. How fucking strong can that guy's cheeks be?

"True," Ludwig admits, lowering the gun idly, "But Feliks, of course, preferred to stay with you so he could see his boyfriend, I mean Toris, verdammt Gilbert und deine porno."

"Da, Toris is Feliks's boyfriend in the same way little Feliciano is your boyfriend," Ivan says with a creepy giggle.

"I only let him sleep in my bed because he gets nightmares," Ludwig snaps, "That is all!"

Ivan sighs, smile falling slightly, "Germany, become one with me like Prussia did."

"Gilbert never became one with you, you just took over!" Ludwig snaps, raising the gun again, "Du bist ein Arsch, get out!"

Ivan skips off, slamming the front door loudly behind him, and Ludwig collapses back into his chair.

* * *

><p>A few days later, Feliciano comes squealing and crying into Ludwig's office with "A super scary letter and somebody's going to kill me, save me Doitsu, Doitsu!"<p>

"Feli, calm down!" Ludwig snaps, "And stop calling me Doitsu, I'm German gottverdammt! Give me that letter."

Feliciano hands him the paper. A daunting patch of blood stains one corner, the handwriting is small and spiky, and the paper stinks of vodka.

"If you do not become one with Mother Russia, I will make each of your friends and allies disappear until you have no other choice but to submit to Russia, starting with your little boyfriend Italy. The North one, obviously. ^J^"

"Braginski!" Ludwig howls.

"Da?" Ivan pops up at the window, and Feliciano jumps into Ludwig's arms, screaming at the top of his voice.

"I know this is you, Russland!" Ludwig waves the paper at him, Feliciano clinging to his torso, "The paper stinks of vodka, there's blood in the corner, and you're the only person to use that stupid J-emoticon."

"My emoticon isn't stupid!" Ivan protests, halfway through the window.

With an angry sigh and gritting teeth, Ludwig lifts up the window to allow Ivan through. "I am not becoming one with anyone, Braginski, Germany is and always has been an independant nation."

"Liar!" Ivan says with a creepy, knowing smile, "You became one with Italy!"

"Ve~" Feliciano snuggles into Ludwig.

"No I didn't!" Ludwig snaps, blushing angrily, "Okay, yes I did, but I was drunk! Stupid Canadian beer."

"So you're not going to kill me?" Feliciano asks warily.

"Not yet, no," Ivan says innocently, and Feliciano screams.

"No!" Ludwig barks at Ivan, and Feliciano's wails escalate, "I will kill you!"

"Bring it," Ivan says, smile widening, "I'll just win like I won World War 2!"

"You only won because you abandoned me for the Allied Forces!" Ludwig snaps.

"Because you broke our pact," Ivan says calmly, "Just think; if you'd never tried to invade me, we could still have had that pact. Think how different history would have been."

"It would have been broken anyway," Ludwig says bluntly, "The pact was between Germany and The Soviet Union, and that's disbanded. But you're right, things would have been much different."

"We could have taken over the world together, little Ludwig," Ivan says, "But no. Such potential wasted."

"In my defense, it was Hitler who invaded you, not me," Ludwig says, carrying Feliciano, now calm, into the living room, Ivan following,"He may have been a great speaker, but he was an awful listener. It was his orders carried out, not mine, and would he listen to the nation with hundreds of years of experience, fich nein!"

"Sometimes following our leaders is not the right thing to do," Ivan agrees.

"You don't need to tell me," Ludwig sighs, putting Feliciano down in an armchair and prising the olive arms away from his torso, "But we don't get an option, do we?"

"At least you've got your friends," Ivan says bitterly, sitting down on the couch by Feliciano, "I had to invade my friends to get them to be allies with me."

"Forcing people to be your friend won't make them your friend," Ludwig sits down next to Ivan, "It only makes them your servant."

"I tried to be friends with Mongolia, Denmark, Sweden and Prussia by negotiating with them but it never worked," Russia says, curling into himself.

"By 'negotiating', what exactly do you mean?" Ludwig asks, "Because threatening, talking about torture, or glaring/grinning creepily do not come under 'negotiating'."

"Well, like Prussia; after I defeated him I wrote him a letter, asking him to become one with me."

"He'd just been defeated, humiliated, by you," Ludwig deadpans, "Why would he want to be your friend after that?"

"Because I am Russia," Ivan says with a stare.

"That is not a sufficient reason!" Ludwig snaps, hairs on the back of his neck standing upright.

"I warned him about the ice," Ivan says innocently.

"Ja, then strangled him," Ludwig retorts.

"It's okay. I got to take him over, so everything's fine."

"No, it's not fine! And I took him back! And stop staring like that! That's one of the reasons no one wants to be your friend!"

"But the Baltics-"

"Are terrified of you!" Ludwig interrupts.

"I'm not that scary!" Ivan says. Ludwig doesn't answer, and, annoyed at the silence, Ivan's glare intensifies until everything glass within the room spontaneously smashes.

"What in the hell?!"Ludwig bellows.

"I think that might have been one of England's curses," Ivan says.

"You should probably talk to him about getting that lifted," Feli chirps from behind his waving white flag.

"No, it's okay," Ivan answers.

"But, don't you want friends?" Feli asks.

"Da, but everyone seems to se scared of me when I try to be friendly."

"Just be nice! Don't stare at them, or mention 'becoming one', and talk about something nice like pasta! Or sunflowers, you like sunflowers, right?"

"Da, if I ever have a girlfriend I will call her my little sunflower," Ivan says, smile shrinking into something almost pleasant.

"That's sweet!" Feli chirrups.

"And then she will become one with me and the world will be mine and her's."

"This is why no one want to be your friend!" Ludwig bellows.

"I'm not very good at thinking of nice things," Ivan pouts, "My bosses have always encouraged me not to be nice."

"What in the hell kind of bosses have you had?" Ludwigs asks, half grumbling.

"Just read this," Ivan hands Ludwig a piece of paper covered in Cyrillic type.

"I can't read Russian," Ludwig deadpans.

"Oh. Well, I can't be bothered to read it all out to you," Ivan takes the paper, "It basically argues that a 'nasty' nation is better than a 'nice' one; they make better weapons. Especially since we can't die, and can take much more stress and work that humans can, and if we train right we can be much stronger and faster and smarter than any human."

"Ja, your bosses are awful," Ludwig says plainly, Feliciano sobbing in the armchair, "I have to wonder what possessed them to do this to their own country."

"You could ask them," Ivan suggests.

"Most of them will be dead," Ludwig say slowly, as sarcastically as a German can get.

"Magic!" Ivan cheers merrily.

"I don't have enough faith in England to ask him to do something like that," Ludwig half laughs, "He'd start one of America's zombie film in motion. Except it wouldn't be one of America's zombie films, because it wouldn't be set in America."

"What about Russian magic?" Ivan suggests.

"I'd imagine your magid is better than England's," Ludwig admits, "And I'm not just saying that because I don't want you to curse me."

"Shall I try?" Ivan asks.

"Please don't."

"But my magic is much better than England's."

"Which is why I don't want to get cursed by you."

"Fine. I might just dig their bodies up anyway; use them to scare Italy."

"Don't you dare!" Ludwig bellows, and Feliciano starts screaming again.

"But it will be funny," Ivan says plainly, smile dropping into a stare, purple aura beginning to tentacle off Ivan's back like a really weird hentai creature.

"It's cruel!" Ludwig scolds, "Not just to the Italies, but to your past leaders too! Let them rest in piece!"

"But they were cruel to me," Ivan argues.

"Surely not all of them were," Feliciano pips up.

"Well, no," Ivan says, sighing, aura dropping, "Some of them were nice. Like Anastasia. She was only a teenager."

"Only a teenager?" Feliciano asks, "What happened to her?"

"She was killed in the Russian Revolution," Ivan says quietly.

"Oh," Feliciano gasps, "I didn't know, I'm sorry."

"I have to kill her myself," Ivan's voice cracks as he speaks, "I had to shoot her. I asked her to dance with me, and as her back was turned I shot her in the head. She thought it was strange that I would dance with my guns still on me, and I said I was in hurry and didn't have much time to dance but wanted to. She believed me. I lied to her, and then I killed her."

"But it would have been much worse for her if you hadn't," Feliciano says gently.

"You did the right thing," Ludwig pats Ivan's back awkwardly, "There wasn't really much else you could have done."

"But what if she had lived?" Ivan says quietly.

"Wouldn't she have lonely without her family?" Feliciano asks.

"And what would the citizens have done to her?" Ludwig asks.

"She could have been safe," Ivan doesn't seem to hear, caught up in angsty nostalgia and painfully happy memories.

"No, she wouldn't have been," Ludwig says a little more forcefully, "She would have been hunted by your citizens; she would never have been safe."

"She didn't care how creepy I could be," Ivan says, "She loved me, both as the Motherland and as Mister Vanya."

"You shouldn't get so attached to your citizens," Ludwig scolds, "She would have grown old and died eventually; such is the pain us nations live with."

Ivan sobs for several minutes, before straightening up, "Excuse me."he stands.

"Where are you going?" Feliciano asks.

"I am rebelling," Ivan answers plainly, stopping in the doorway.

"Against yourself?" Feliciano frowns.

"You mustn't do that!" Ludwig yells, "Don't you know what happens if you do that!"

Ivan laughs. The laugh is low, deep, and somehow even creepier than his usual laugh, jolting his whole body as the sharp sounds escape his jaw. His aura writhes on his back, spreading and growing until it practically cloaks his whole body. In a rippling twitch, the deep purple turns a deep red, before the aura, or magic for want of a better word, peels away, to reveal Ivan's signature white and purple clothing to have turned black and red.

"Oh, shit," Ludwig gapes dumbly, Feliciano trembling behind him. The second representative of Russia, Nikolai Braginski, stares back at him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**This is something me and a friend (let's call him Redd Scarf) worked on for over a year. Redd Scarf was Ivan/Nikolai, and I was meant to only be Ludwig, but it sort of escalated. Oops. Therefore it's ended up pretty long, and I'll get it written up as and when I feel like it. There are a lot of characters, both canon and original, involved. I'll try to describe anyone 'new'.**

**It'll get a little gory at times, due to the fighting, and quite sarcastic because I did and will continue to lose patience and just get really sarcastic with everything.**

**Hope you enjoy this clusterfuck of whoknowswhat  
>I own nothing<br>-Laurel Silver**


	2. Feliciano to Lorenzo

"Feli, find a bright side to this," Ludwig hisses to the Italian.

"Why do I have to find the bright side?" Feliciano hisses back.

"You're generally the cheery one."

"At least he won't be demanding everyone becomes one with him?" Feli suggests.

"Good enough," Ludwig says, before taking a deep breath and visibly relaxing.

"What?" Nikolai asks. His voice is clearly much deeper than Ivan's, and cracklier like a smoker's voice.

"Your counterpart's favorite phrase," Feliciano explains, "Like "You will become one with Mother Russia, da?" It's really creepy."

Nikolai frowns. "My counterpart asks first?"

"Ah, scheisse," Ludwig deadpans, pulling out his Luger.

"Little Germany, you know guns cannot kill us," Nikolai deadpans. His voice is also much less cheery than Ivan's, and his Russian accent is slightly thicker. Other subtle differences become clearer as Ludwig looks him over; his now-red scarf is thinner and looser showing the heavy scarring wrapped around his throat, his clothes are much older but thicker and better suited for colder weather, his hair is longer and somehow even more unkempt, his eyes are thinner with dark shadows underneath as if he hasn't slept in a long time. His lips and face seem thinner, but that could just be the lack of unsettling grin. And Ludwig would be grateful for a grin, even Ivan's false smile was friendlier than Nikolai's unblinking stare.

"It is simply for my own peace of mind," Ludwig says as firmly as he can with the hairs on the back of his neck standing regiment, "And, of course, Feliciano's."

"Feliciano?" Nikolai asks, and his head tilts to the side like Ivan's; the Russian representatives couldn't be so different.

"North Italy," Ludwig clarifies.

"I know him as Lorenzo," Nikolai says, "Where is… Feliciao?"

"Feliciano," Ludwig corrects, "Is in the corner. Hiding."

"Privyet, Feliciano," Nikolai greets, voice still gravely and monotone, hand raised in a half-wave.

Feliciano screams aloud, dashing to Ludwig and burying his face between Ludwig's shoulders, using the stocky German as a human, or nation, shield.

"Please don't do that," Ludwig scolds, "He's easily startled."

"I only said hello," Nikolai says without Ivan's pout.

"He's terrified of your counterpart. And rumour has it that you're worse."

"I have never met my counterpart," Nikolai says calmly, "So I would not know. Who told you the rumour?"

"Young-Soo," Ludwig answers.

"Yong-Su?" Nikolai echoes, "I thought he was my ally."

"Maybe we're talking about different Young-Soo-s?" Ludwig suggests.

"Korea?"

"Okay, maybe we're talking about the same Young-Soo," Ludwig deadpans. After several seconds, he suggests; "Are you hungry?" hoping to send Feliciano off to the kitchen to make pasta.

"I am alright," and Nikolai exploits the massive flaw in Ludwig's otherwise flawless plan, "Oliver gave me some cake to eat."

"Oliver?"

"England," Nikolai explains, pulling a red, undecorated cupcake out of one of his pockets and biting into it.

"Why is it red?" Ludwig asks carefully.

"Oliver's a cannibal," Nikolai says plainly.

Feliciano's grip on Ludwig's shirt tightens, and Ludwig can remember Young-Soo telling everyone about the freckled version of England he'd met who baked people into cakes and pastries, and no one had believed him.

"Would you like some, little Feliciano?" Nikolai asks.

Feliciano screams, burying himself further into Ludwig's back.

"I think that means "No, thank you,"," Ludwig says.

"Yong-Su says Oliver cooks better than his counterpart," Nikolai presses, holding the cupcake out, "And I value Yong-Su's word very highly."

"Young-Soo says that Oliver has a bad habit of poisoning things," Ludwig says, "Do you value that word as highly?"

"Yes. Because it's true. Are you afraid of death, little Germany?"

"Of course I'm afraid of death, you psycho!" Ludwig snaps.

"That's rude," Nikolai scolds, "We stopped using nasty words like 'psycho' several decades ago on my world. Except Al, but he only does it to make everyone angry."

"Our America likes annoying people, too," Ludwig says calmly. "Feli, can you let me go? I can't breathe." Feliciano shakes his head against Ludwig's shoulder blades. "Please? Why don't you go make pasta?"

"You are only being a burden, Feliciano," Nikolai says, "You are holding little Germany back, and will only cause him to get hurt if something were to happen."

"He is not a burden!" Ludwig snaps, "You're not a burden, Feli, don't listen to him."

"Tell him the truth," Nikolai scolds, "He has held you back since you've met him, hasn't he? Of course; the Germany I know is always brutally honest, so you will be a blatant liar."

"I am not a liar!" Ludwig growls, "Feliciano has never held me back. If I needed to do something he wouldn't like, I'd tell him to make pasta. That's how he spent most of his time during the wars; cooking for the soldiers and prisoners of war. He was like a little housewife to Kiku and me."

"Because he is gay?" Nikolai asks.

"His sexuality has nothing to do with it," Ludwig says, slightly shocked, "How do you even know about that?"

"Young-Su. Why are you red, little Germany?"

"Ludwig? Are you alright?" Feliciano asks, concern outweighing suddenly forgotten fear, "Do you need something cool to eat?"

"You have matching necklaces," Nikolai notices as Feliciano leans around Ludwig to take the German's temperature, "That's cute. No one in my world has that."

"You seem to be okay," Feliciano concludes, apparently not noticing Nikolai's speaking, "I'm going to go make dinner, okay?"

"Do you have vodka?" Nikolai asks.

"I don't think so," Feliciano answers, "I have pasta, wurst, tomatoes-" he begins to list, until he notices Nikolai's unforgiving stare, "I think Lovino left some Italian wine though, and there'll probably be plenty of beer!"

Nikolai sighs, "I know how to make vodka, if I can use your basement."

"No," Ludwig says firmly, "Gil- Prussia lives there."

"The attic?"

"No! That's being used for storage. If you want vodka go buy some."

"I have no money," Nikolai says, "We don't use it anymore in my world. The gardening shed?"

"Gardening tools. Go back to Russia; I'm sure Ivan has plenty in storage."

"I don't want to go back to Russia," Nikolai says plainly. He walks outside, his strides longer than Ivan's and with much less spring in his step; Nikolai seems to march, stamping his booted feet loudly, as if he is determined to be heard, whereas Ivan has a habit of practically skipping, almost silent, causing him to 'accidentally' sneak up on people, usually the Baltic States, and scaring them out of their wits.

"Why not?" Ludwig demands, matching Nikolai's pace easily.

"It is not time to go back to Russia yet," Nikolai answers plainly.

"And what the hell does that mean?"

"You will see, little Germany." Nikolai tears the old lock off the door to the shed and opens the door with a loud creak, "Ah, yes, this will do fine."

"Oh for- there is no room!" Ludwig practically bellows.

"It will do fine," Nikolai insists, starting to shove Ludwig out of his own shed.

"You're going to make a mess!"

"It will do fine."

"There isn't space in here to do anything!"

"It will do fine."

Ludwig sighs. "You're a stubborn as your counterpart."

"I am nothing like Ivan," Nikolai growls.

"You possess the same body! The same land! The same people! You are one and the same, even if you are nothing alike."

"Ivan is weak," Nikolai growls, towering over Ludwig, "I am stronger than he has ever been."

"But you're not so different," Feliciano chirps, "You both really like vodka!"

"Really?" Nikolai frowns, "Strange. Lorenzo, the other you, hates pasta."

"He doesn't like pasta?!" Feliciano squeals in shock, "But everybody likes pasta!"

"But he is your opposite," Nikolai says plainly.

"But _pasta_!" Feliciano cries, tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

Ludwig pulls Feliciano into an awkward hug, patting the smaller man on the back.

"You don't seem to be understanding," Nikolai says tiredly, "Alright, take the Holy Roman Empire, for example."

Feliciano wails, and Ludwig glares at Nikolai, "We don't talk about that."

"I will talk about whatever I like, little Germany," Nikolai says, a dangerous lilt lacing his deep voice as a red aura begins to cloak his body thinly.

"It is not a welcome topic," Ludwig growls, "Much like yourself and Anastasia, _for example_."

Nikolai's face darkens, and the magic seeping off him darkens even further, thickening and writhing in anticipation. "However much Feliciano does not want to think about it, it is a part of his life. The sooner he can face that and accept it, the sooner he can grow up out of being a useless little crybaby."

Feliciano cries harder into Ludwig's shoulder, and a red tendril of Russian magic wraps itself around his ankle. As he continues to cry, the tendril grows and thickens, wrapping itself around Feliciano's legs, waist and torso before Ludwig breaks away from his death glare aimed at Nikolai. The German pulls away suddenly, shocked, and Feliciano falls silent in alarm before screaming helplessly, batting at the red glow as if it is a bug he can swat away. The magic engulfs him, cutting off his screams as it covers his open mouth.

"Let him go!" Ludwig barks, Luger raised and aimed at Nikolai, "Let him go _now_!"

Getting no response, Ludwig aims to the side slightly, shooting the wall behind Nikolai, narrowly missing Ludwig's lawnmower, Nikolai blatantly ignores him.

The red glow dims, brightens, and peels away. Feliciano's blue clothes are replaced by a brown suit, his hair has darkened and a small hat sits atop it, his skin has paled and sallowed. Knives hang from his belt, his boots are properly laced, his hands are gloved. His smile is smaller, more relaxed and less cheery, his eyes are wider and have become an unnatural purple in colour.

"Oh," Lorenzo says plainly, "I understand what happened now. But how is this possible?"

"I don't know," Nikolai answers, "We need to find Yong-Su, ask him if he knows anything."

"Fine. Lutz!" Lorenzo barks, "Where the fuck is Yong-Su."

Ludwig just stares. Where the hell has Feliciano gone?

"Lutz!" Lorenzo barks again, "Can you fucking hear me? Don't ignore me!"

A harsh slapping sound, and Ludwig finds himself staring at the corner, his left cheek throbbing.

"Wait a minute," Lorenzo's fingers trace a line across Ludwig's cheek, "Where's your scar? You're not Lutz, are you?"

"Ah, no," Ludwig answers.

"Then turn into him," Lorenzo orders.

"I can't just-" Ludwig stammers.

"Why not?" a gloved hand ghosts over a blood stained knife in warning.

"I just can't!" Ludwig snaps, "If it's so easy, why don't you turn back into Feliciano?"

"Because who the fuck would _want_ to be such a whiny crybaby?" Lorenzo rolls his eyes, "I'm going to go search the kitchen for vodka, I remember there will be some there. Nikolai; you turn this bastard into Lutz."

Lorenzo barges past Ludwig, much stronger than Feliciano as he almost barrels Ludwig over, and out the door.

* * *

><p><strong>You might have noticed that Nikolai refers to the past a lot ("several decades ago" "a long time ago"). I'll explain that later. A lot later.<strong>

**Lorenzo cusses more than Feliciano. And is quite possessive, and likely to throw a tantrum (as opposed to crying) if he doesn't get his way. **

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	3. Ludwig to Lutz

"I need both of you to either get out of my house, or turn back into your counterparts," Ludwig says firmly, "Well actually, I want _you_ to leave my house either way, but let's take this one step at a time."

"We're not leaving," Nikolai says plainly.

"Give me one reason why."

"We don't leave yet."

"And just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Nikolai smiles, and it's one of the most terrifying things Ludwig has ever seen, and he's seen some shit in his (relatively) short life. It's a cold, mocking smile, as if Nikolai is about to pat him on the head and dash his brains out with his heavy hands. At least Ivan's fake smiles would hold some sort of childish cheer. Nikolai's smile is nothing short of a cruel smirk, darker than Ivan's most horrible stares, promising no less than hell on Earth to whoever he gives that smile to.

"Fine," Ludwig snaps, fear compressed, Luger clenched a little too tight in his trembling hand, "Don't tell me. I still want you gone."

"No, I don't leave for quite a while. In fact, you leave before I do."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I'm going to tell you to."

Ludwig almost laughs straight in Nikolai's smirking face, "And I obey you?"

"Yes." Nikolai says plainly. The temperature of the room seems to drop, and Ludwig backs away from Nikolai, wedging himself into the corner.

Nikolai's smile drops suddenly into a thoughtful frown. Unlike Ivan, who had complete control over his facial expressions and forced himself to be happy almost constantly, Nikolai seems to wear his heart on his sleeve; every thought and expression flits across the tired face. Too bad every thought seems to be pure evil. Every cruel possibility that forms in his mind works its way into his face, and only succeeds in making Nikolai even more terrifying with every twisted fantasy he creates.

His scarf, easily as long as Ivan's had been, twitches, without Nikolai even moving. The ends shiver and spasm, before they rise, writhing as Nikolai stares at them, his awe-filled face looking more like Ivan's than Ludwig thought possible, yet still twisted into a smirk of cruel intention.

Nikolai seemingly being distracted, Ludwig makes a bolt for the door. One end of Nikolai's scarf shoots after him, wrapping around his waist and hoisting him into the air, Ludwig knocking his head on the low wooden ceiling..

Ludwig is forced back into the corner, held in place by the red wool still wrapped around his waist. Nikolai stares at him, head cocked in thought.

"Out of all of you, you change the least," Nikolai says absentmindedly, "Lutz has a lot more scars, though."

The other end of the scarf wraps itself around Ludwig's left arm, squeezing tight. Pain flares, in three lines over Ludwig's elbow and forearm, and the trapped German yells out in pain.

The scarf is unwrapped, and Ludwig quickly checks his arm. Three deep, pink scars, like claw marks, sit in his skin. Ludwig runs his fingers over them; they're fairly deep, and dry and scaly to the touch, and painfully sensitive when he digs his nails into them.

"What are these?" he asks.

"You got into a fight with Matt's bear," Nikolai answers.

"Matt?"

"Canada."

"Who?"

The scarf around his waist tightens in anger, "Vimy Ridge. Remember that?"

Ludwig shudders as he remembers Matthew, a man possessed, on the battlefield of Vimy Ridge, World War One. He remembers how the inexperienced Canadian had fought, shooting and stabbing with his bloodied bayonet. How the beaten and visibly exhausted Canuck had fought so hard and so successfully, and how neither Ludwig or Gilbert could believe it was truly the little colony's first time fighting. How proud Arthur had been of his violent little pacifist.

"How rude of you to forget," Nikolai says, poking Ludwig's face as he stresses his words.

"Our Matthew is easy to forget."

"That's no excuse!" and again, Ludwig's face is reeled to his right, cheek stinging much deeper than Lorenzo's hit was, a scar forming in the dig of his cheek, and the left side of his lips start to curl involuntarily into a lopsided smirk.

The unused end of the scarf wraps tightly around Ludwig's neck, the German's hands shooting up to try to pull it away as his airways are blocked off and he struggles to breathe. Slowly, one by painful one, scars sink into his skin, and his muscles relax.

Just before he passes out, Lutz smirks, cheek scar warping in his too wide smile, then his head lolls back and his body flops into unconscious uselessness.

Nikolai grabs Lutz by the ankle, with his own hand, and drags the German back to the house like a ragdoll, not caring when the unmoving body scrapes against rocks and catches on corner walls.

Lorenzo sits in the armchair in the living room, chewing on a pizza slice he produced from fuck knows where, vodka bottle standing proud on the coffee table.

"Is that Lutz?" Lorenzo asks plainly.

"Yes," Nikolai answers, dropping the ankle.

"Yay!" Lorenzo chirps. He stands and walks over to Lutz before he swings his leg back and kicks the incoherent German hard in the stomach, and Lutz chokes, barely covering Lorenzo's hollers of "Wake up, you useless lazy bastard!"

Lutz groans, and Lorenzo kicks him again. Nikolai grabs the vodka bottle, unscrewing it and taking a long, hearty swig as he sits himself down. Lutz mumbles something in German, and Lorenzo screams at him to speak English, only to be answered with more English.

"Guten Morgen, Nikolai," Lutz greets Nikolai in his mother tongue, "Oder Nacht. Oder was auch immer das Zeit ist."

"Why isn't he speaking English?" Nikolai asks Lorenzo.

"He just forgets to speak in it when he's just woken up," Lorenzo answers, "Don't you, amato mia?" he punctuates his endearment with another sharp kick.

"So long as he understands his orders," Nikolai says, "Lutz; I have a mission for you."

"Was ist es?" Lutz asks, yawning, and Lorenzo leaves as Lutz drags himself off the floor.

"I need you to go collect England."

"Wass? Das Cupcakemann? Warum?"

"Because he makes nice cupcakes."

"Das ist warum? Sie wollen mir ein Kannibale kidnappen, denn magen Sie ihr Backen?"

"Yes. Do I need another reason?"

Lutz blinks at him. "Ja. Sie sein nur irre, und werde ich nicht es tun."

"We don't use words like 'crazy' anymore, remember Ludwig?," Nikolai says with a glare.

Lutz nods his dismissal, getting up. Lorenzo appears suddenly in the door, cackling like a goose.

"Liebling?" Lutz says warily, pointing to the device strapped to Lorenzo's back, "Warum hast du das? Und wo kriegst du es von?"

"Yes, why do you have that?" Nikolai asks, "And why do Ludwig and Feliciano even own a flamethrower?"

Lorenzo shrugs, before aiming the unfired nozzle at Lutz, whose eyes widen with a whispered German cuss. "Lutz, amato mia, remind what the German phrase for 'Fire' is? You used to say it in the wars and I've completely forgotten it, silly me!"

"Feuer frei," Lutz answers.

"Ah yes, feuer frei," Lorenzo repeats. He clears his throat, and with a cry of "Feuer frei!" he pulls the trigger, Lutz sprawling down onto the floor to avoid the explosion of agony orange flames that erupt from the nozzle.

"Alright, I think he gets the point," Nikolai says, tugging on Lorenzo's shoulder as the Italian laughs wildly.

"There isn't a point. Knives and swords and spears and bayonets have points. Flamethrowers have fire. Silly Nikolai."

"Are you going to collect England, Lutz?" Nikolai calls to the German.

"Ja! Ja! Bitte macht ihm das Flammenwerfer nach setzen unten!" Lutz screams.

"You heard him; put the flamethrower down," Nikolai orders.

Lorenzo pouts, "It was just little encouragement."

Ludwig scrambles to his feet, running from the house. Lorenzo miserably shrugs the flamethrower off his back, putting it down by the door, "I only wanted to try it out."

"It is alright, you will have the opportunity to try it out later."

Lorenzo grins, sitting back down in his armchair and pulling another slice of pizza from the seventh circle of hell or wherever the last one came from. Nikolai sits on the settee near to him, drinking deeply from his vodka bottle.

And over in England, Lutz barges in on a man having a Harry Potter marathon, with enough food to feed three people spread out across his coffee table. Lutz grabs Arthur, human representative of England, and hauls the delinquent gentleman over his shoulder, never noticing the red-headed male hiding behind the settee, shaking in fear. Lutz marches out before the red-head's feistier twin gets back from her bathroom trip, when Sean Kirkland, human representative of North Ireland, leaps at his sister with tears and a garbled Gaelic story of a scary scarred man grabbing Arthur and carrying him away.

* * *

><p><strong>Lutz actually ends up speaking German throughout the entire story. Oops.<br>Yes, I do speak German. I would send Redd Scarf the German line [then the English translation in square brackets]. Here, I've either simplified them so they're relatively close to their English translation, or have the next speaker partially repeat what he said  
>For a little context, 'Sie' is the formal version of 'you', which Lutz uses when he speaks to Nikolai; he speaks to Nikolai with respect. Lutz refers to Lorenzo using the informal 'du'.<br>I have full headcannons for and about Lutz's scars.**

**Free bonus chapter/sidestory if you review with the Macbeth reference. Hint; the Raven Speech.**

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	4. Gilbert to

Two hours pass. Nikolai finishes his bottle of vodka, Lorenzo gives him another and heads out to buy more. The Italian is back with vodka, wine and pizza making supplies, and still no word from the scarred blond. The house smells of tomato pizza, Lorenzo sipping wine as he waits, staring out of the window from a distance. Nikolai is sat at the window, watching impatiently like a child waiting for their over-generous eccentric aunt on Christmas Eve. Except they don't traditionally celebrate Christmas in Russia, so that simile makes hardly any sense.

"If you'd let me burn him, he'd be back by now," Lorenzo whines, eying up his flamethrower.

"What if he's fallen asleep?" Nikolai asks worriedly, like the earlier child has just been told their aunt's car has broken down and she won't be here for Christmas. I don't care if the simile makes no sense, I'm staying with it.

"We know he won't," Lorenzo reassures him.

Nikolai nods, taking another deep glug of his vodka, before he frowns, "We're forgetting something."

"Are we?" Lorenzo asks, "You're the one with all the know-how. I didn't believe you about any of this, remember?"

"Yes, yes, I remember," Nikolai waves the Italian into silence, thinking. "Where's Gilbert?"

"He lived in the basement," Lorenzo answers.

"Go get him!" Nikolai barks.

Lorenzo rolls his eyes before skipping off, grabbing his flamethrower as he passes.

Nikolai remains sitting merrily as Gilbert yells in German from the basement. Lorenzo's flamethrower hisses a few times, then Gilbert comes thudding, hurtling up the stairs, Lorenzo's cackling following the confused albino every step of the way. He flies through the door, landing on the hallway floor with a painful crash. Lorenzo, with a few encouraging flames, ushers Gilbert into the living room, the Prussian careful to keep a fair distance between himself and the Italian, Gilbird hopping up and down on the nest he's made in Gilbert's hair.

"You seem to have grown since I last saw you," Nikolai says. Gilbert just stares, looking him up and down in utter confusion, "Would you like to join your brother?"

"Doing what?" Gilbert asks with a suspicious glare, Gilbird's tweet equally suspicious.

"Well, anything," Nikolai says, "You love your brother, don't you?"

"Yes," Gilbert trails off, "What have you done to my brother?!"

"Nothing! We did nothing!" Nikolai reassures him, "Did we, _Italy_?" he says pointedly.

"No, Russia wouldn't let me," Lorenzo answers, picking up the hint.

"Because I know how dangerous you can be," Nikolai says, and Lorenzo only smiles innocently, furthering Gilbert's confusion, "But, Prussia, don't you want to join us?"

"Join you in what?" Gilbert asks, "Where's West?"

"He's gone West," Lorenzo giggles.

"He's getting England," Nikolai answers.

"Why?" Gilbert asks.

"Because he makes good food," Nikolai says.

Gilbert stares for several before he breaks down laughing, "What? Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"I knew you were crazy, but _seriously_!"

Nikolai frowns, "Don't you enjoy doing things with your brother? Like your training?"

"Yes," Gilbert says, laughing stopped, "Where is this going?"

"It's going in a direction in which you join us and your brother."

"You want me to help West to kidnap England?" Gilbert asks, and Gilbird tweets questioningly.

"Yes, but as your second player counterpart," Nikolai answers.

"How about _nein_!" Gilbert barks.

"I don't want to have to set Lorenzo on you," Nikolai warns, and Lorenzo waves the burnt nozzle of the flamethrower at him.

"Ah, but if second players are our opposites," Gilbert gibbers, "Then surely my counterpart must be the most unawesome thing to ever exist!"

"Un-awesome isn't even a word," Lorenzo says.

Gilbird tweets indignantly at the Italian. Good bird. Awesome friend.

"Still, if all the nations from our world are here, it will be much easier to keep track of," Nikolai says slowly, thinking carefully, "But the reason I forgot about you is because, our Prussia died fifty years ago. So, I suppose this Prussia is unnecessary. He is expendable. Lorenzo; have fun."

Lorenzo whoops, and Gilbert screams, Gilbird twittering in alarm, "No! Please! I'll kidnap England, I'll join you, I'll do whatever you want, just _please don't kill me_!"

"A deal?" Nikolai asks, interested, waving for Lorenzo to wait.

"Yeah, even the 2-p world needs a little more awesome," Gilbert urges, Gilbird twittering in agreement.

"Alright. I suppose you can stay," Nikolai says, and Gilbert whoops and Gilbird cheeps happily.

"But I wanna set someone on fire!" Lorenzo yell-whines.

"Soon, Lorenzo. I'll tell you what; as soon as Gilbert steps out of line you can burn him."

Lorenzo cheer, before taking off the flamethrower and skipping off to the kitchen. As much as he loves burning people, burnt pizza is just awful.

"So…" Gilbert says awkwardly, "You're 2p, huh?"

"Yes," Nikolai answers plainly.

"Young-Soo would always tell us about you. No one ever believed him."

"Yong-Su would tell us about you, too. We always believed him."

"Well, you are our opposites, so…" the conversation trails off, the atmosphere as awkward as Miranda Cosgrove. Old joke, I know. "West is kidnapping Arthur?"

"Yes."

"What are your Ludwig and Arthur called?"

"Lutz and Oliver."

"And Oliver's a good cook?"

"He bakes well. I like his cupcakes."

"That's sweet."

"They tend to be quite metallic-tasting, actually."

Gilbert frowns, Gilbird tweeting in question until Gilbert shush-paps him into silence, "So… Your version of me is dead?"

"Yes."

"Who killed me?"

"You did. You commited suicide, bullet to the head. Lutz found your body."

"Oh. That's awful."

"You're the only one of us who successfully died."

"Good for the awesome me, then, huh?"

Nikolai doesn't answer.

Lorenzo saunters back in, plate of pizza balancing in his open hand, chewing happily on a slice.

"We need to go after Hungary," Nikolai says, addressing the whole room.

"Hell no!" Gilbert snaps, "She's smack me with that damn frying pan of her's!"

Lorenzo puts the pizza down and grabs the flamethrower, Gilbert backing away in fear.

"You go, then, Lorenzo," Nikolai says to the Italian.

"What? But I just got my pizza!" Lorenzo whines, "And I wanna burn Gilbert!"

"You can burn Hungary if you need to," Nikolai says plainly.

"I don't like that idea," Lorenzo says with a scowl, "Who even put you in charge, anyway?!"

"Oh, _shit_," Gilbert says, backing away, Gilbird chirping warily.

"I've always been in charge, Lorenzo. Why would here and now be any different?"

And outside, a voice can be heard shouting; "Put me down, you steroids-munching, beer-guzzling, gel-wasting tosser!"

"Sounds like Lutz is back," Nikolai comments.

Lorenzo's scowl drops instantly, anger seemingly forgotten, as he cheers. Well, he can't be too different from Feliciano, can he?

Lutz struggles his way through the door, Arthur wriggling about and swinging his limbs wildly in an attempt to escape. "Ich habe ihm." The German announces as he throws the angered Brit into an armchair.

"What the hell is going on?" Arthur demands.

"Hello, Arthur," Nikolai says calmly, "I am not the Russia you are used to, but we would like you to join us."

"I'd wondered if Young-Soo was telling the truth," Arthur admits, "If fairies are real, why not alternate universes?"

"Right…" Gilbert agrees sarcastically.

"But I'm afraid I will have to politely decline," Arthur finishes, ignoring Gilbert.

"You don't really have that option," Nikolai says plainly.

"Then why word it as if there's an option?"

"Manners," Nikolai shrugs, "But you will join us, and you will join us as your second player counterpart. Whether the process of changing into him is easy or difficult is completely up to you."

"Go on, then," Arthur challenges, "Wave your wand or whatever; I'm not scared of you or your silly Russian magic."

Lorenzo chuckles, and Lutz straight out starts guffawing.

"I can assure you precautions have been taken," Arthur says, speaking loudly over the laughing pair, "As soon as the possibility was put forward, myself and my siblings took it upon ourselves to protect each other and our loved ones from any dimension shifting. It was complicated, and Alistair thought I was being paranoid, but here we are."

"Bedeutet dass Matt kommt night?" Lutz whines.

"No, of course Matt's coming," Nikolai reassures the sulking German, "I don't think Yong-Su ever really understood what the 'counterparts' were. I didn't, until only a few years ago. But, if Yong-Su doesn't understand it, how could Arthur possibly understand it?"

"Understand what. exactly?" Gilbert asks, Gilbert chirruping in question.

Lutz's head snaps around at the voice, electric blue eyes settling on Gilbert, wide in shock. "Bruder? Du lebst?"

* * *

><p><strong>End German reads "Brother? You're alive?"<strong>

**Don't question the Christmas thing at the beginning, I was really struggling to get into writing that day and I can't be bothered to re-write.**

**Yes, the next chapter starts with German brothers angst. On the plus side, the 2-p verse is now significantly more awesome. And no, Gilbert will not be going '2p', he and a few others stay '1p'.**

**Bonus chapter/short story to whoever notices the two Homestuck references**

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	5. Guns o' the Irish

An awful silence falls over the room, Nikolai and Lorenzo only able to watch forlornly as Lutz stares at Gilbert, the sight of the albino expelling the fifty year old nightmares of the gunshots and the blood and the barely recognisable body. Gilbert backs away, unsure how to break the un-awesomely stifling quiet, not even Gilbird daring to make a sound. Arthur shuffles about in a seemingly awkward fashion, discreetly sending a series of signals to a red-headed pair peeping in through the window.

"No," Gilbert finally breaks the silence, voice not quite as firm as he'd like it to be, "Well, yes, I'm alive, but I'm not the Gilbert you knew; I'm different."

"Nein, nein," Lutz insists, "Du bist die gleich!"

"I'm not the same, I'm really not!" Gilbert says, Gilbird tweeting like his fluffy little life depends on it.

"Lutz, you need to pull yourself together," Nikolai snaps, "Your Gilbert is dead, and you need to accept that."

"Doch ist es Gilbert!" Lutz cries.

"It isn't, and you know it isn't," Nikolai says sternly, "I told you this would happen, and you said you would be fine."

"Ich _bin_ fein!" Lutz snaps. "Das ist Gilbert, und wir kennen beide es!"

"Lutz!" Lorenzo shrieks, "Shut the fuck up, calm the fuck down, and speak in English goddammit!"

Lutz stares, blinking slowly, face red in anger and nostalgic misery. He stares back at Gilbert, to Lorenzo, to Nikolai, then at the floor as he sits down, legs crossed like a school child, face in his hands, palms digging painfully into his eyes, and he just _sobs_, every cry tearing its way through his scar lined body, limbs jolting at every choke.

Arthur awkwardly reaches out, patting blond hair cautiously with outstretched fingertips. Lutz doesn't seem to even notice. Nikolai glares at Lorenzo, gesturing openly at the German with his head, until the irritable Italian crouches down beside his partner, drumming his fingers impatiently on the nozzle of his flamethrower.

"Hey, Lutz, carino, stop crying and you can help me torture Arthur into submission," he coos.

"I can leave," Gilbert offers, "I'll head back to the basement. Won't go anywhere or try anything, I swear on Gilbird's life!" Gilbird tweets, giving Gilbert an angry peck on the scalp.

"It won't be necessary," Nikolai says calmly, "Lutz is very in control of himself. He will be fine."

"Can I go back to the basement anyway? I was playing a really cool video game, and I really wanna beat this level."

"No. You can, however, fetch your journal."

"My journal?" Gilbert frowns, and Gilbert tweets in question, "How did you even know I have a journal."

"Ludwig told me, now go fetch it!" Nikolai snaps, and Gilbert scurries off as Lorenzo continues to coo promises into

Lutz sniffles, rubbing his nose viciously with his hand, still choking, but significantly calmer. With Lorenzo dragging semi-helpfully on his arm, Lutz climbs to his feet, wiping his tear-stained cheeks with his wrists as his lazy smirks creeps back into place."Was sind das Order, Boss?"

Nikolai mirrors Lutz's smirk, "We bring Oliver here."

"No you don't!" Arthur chirps arrogantly.

"Got it!" Gilbert announces, waving the journal, "Am I the official scribe or something? Recording every achievement in awesome detail?"

""That is your current purpose, yes," Nikolai answers.

Gilbert sits cross-legged on the floor, journal on the coffee table, and begins to write on a clean page, "So, what happened first?"

"Lutz, fill the Prussian in," Nikolai orders, and Gilbert whoops at the mention of his awesome nationality.

Lutz sits calmly opposite the albino. Gaze fixated on the table, Lutz solemnly begins to chant in a thick, barely understandable German accent; "Nikolai came across first. Ivan wanted to rebel against his own country, causing the change. Then came Lorenzo, then Lutz, Nikolai practising his Russian magic to change them both. Lutz was then sent to collect Arthur from England, and Lorenzo was sent to collect Gilbert."

"That sounds rather practised," Gilbert says conversationally, writing furiously. Lutz only grunts in response.

"It almost sounds rehearsed," Arthur agrees with Gilbert, "Which is only the _slightest_ bit creepy."

"Arthur, we know you and your siblings are fully capable of changing with your counterparts at will," Nikolai says, addressing the Brit, "All I ask of you is to change with Oliver, without a fight."

"No chance in hell," Arthur answers plainly.

"I didn't think there was. I was just wondering. Lorenzo; have fun."

"Finally!" Lorenzo cheers. In three strides, Lorenzo is stood over Arthur, nozzle aimed for the Brit's legs, finger just starting to squeeze the nozzle.

The door flies open with a crash, followed by a male voice, chirpy with it's Irish accent, "Get the fuck away from my brother, you macaroni-munching monger!"

The Ireland twins are very similar in appearance; same height, same dark red shade of hair, even similar ways of standing with their heads held high, shoulders back, emerald eyes slightly narrowed; the very image of arrogance. However, Erin's hair is much longer, bunched hair swinging to her shoulder blades, Sean is slimmer and leaner, Erin is frecklier, and little flashes of nervousness dance across Sean's shaved face as the Northern sibling scans the room.

"Change of plan, Lorenzo," Nikolai says.

"Got it," Lorenzo chirrups, swinging the nozzle around to aim at the twins.

Calmly, in almost complete unison, the Ireland twins raise their guns; Sean a handgun, and as he steps further into the room a rifle becomes visible slung over his shoulder, and Erin something akin to a miniature bazooka, a shoulder bag full of fuck-knows-what clanking against her hip.

"Where the fuck did you get those from?" Arthur asks, mostly shocked, mostly impressed.

"Alistair," the twins answer, shrugging in unison.

Nikolai bounds over to the twins, punching Erin directly in the face. Sean whirls, firing off bullets, and dives closer to his target, only to be dragged off by Lutz as Nikolai roots around his coat to find an empty vodka bottle and Ivan's pipe. Lorenzo aims his flamethrower at Erin and pulls the trigger, Erin having to throw herself backwards onto the floor to dodge the eruption of scalding light.

Arthur slides out of the armchair, crouching next to Gilbert, "Got anything useful? I.e. weapons?"

"West's got them stashed all over the place," Gilbert answers, reaching his hands under the coffee table. It takes very little searching to find two handguns, fully loaded and waiting to be cocked and shot, strapped to the underside of the tabletop. _Danke Gott_ for his little brother's paranoia.

"Freeze, big nose!" Arthur yells, holding the barrel of one of the guns to the side of Nikolai's head, "Holy shit, I just sounded so _American_."

Gilbert calmly aims his gun at Lutz's head. Sean aims his at Lorenzo, forcibly ripping the harness to the flamethrower off of the Italian. Erin shoves the barrel of her bazooka into Nikolai's face, pointedly loading it right there and then.

"You know we don't die easily," Nikolai says, surprisingly calm for a man staring down the barrel of a loaded bazooka.

"No," Arthur agrees, "But a bullet to the brain is enough to knock you out for a good few hours. Long enough for you to calm down and return to the creepy Russia we're more familiar with."

Nikolai, without seeming to pause to think about it, swings Ivan's pipe, hitting Erin behind the knees and knocking her over, before clobbering Arthur in the head and he falls away. He throws the pipe, and Sean has to hit the floor to avoid a face full of metal. The empty vodka bottle is launched at Gilbert, who fails to dodge it and the glass smashes against his shoulder, cutting his upper arm and making the awesome albino yell out in pain, fingers instinctively relaxing and dropping the handgun.

From the floor, Arthur raises the gun to fire at Lorenzo, Nikolai kicking the Brit in the wrist as he squeezes the trigger, the bullet burying itself in the ceiling. Lorenzo re-attaches the harness of his beloved flamethrower, aiming at Erin and firing. The flames lick the Southern red-head, her shirt setting alight.

"Stop, drop and roll!" Sean screams at his sister, "Stop, drop and roll!"

Erin rolls across the floor, Sean still screaming that same phrase at her, until the flames are out, her shirt singed and some of the hem burnt to ash, but her shirt is mostly intact. Clearly, Erin gets her shirts from the same place Bruce Banner gets his trousers from.

Lutz, meanwhile, had dived on Arthur, knocking the wind out of the Brit with his solid body, and is pinning Arthur dawn, the gun thrown well out of reach. Arthur hisses as his ribs crack under Lutz's strong hold. Gilbert still clutches his arm, Gilbird twittering in worry.

Nikolai picks Erin up off the floor by her neck, strangling her as she begins to kick at him, booted feet connecting firmly with Nikolai's ribs, but the hulking Russian doesn't seem to notice as bruises begin to blossom over his chest. Lorenzo fires at Sean, barely missing, herding the frightened Irishman into the corner.

"Why don't you just join us?" Nikolai asks, Ivan's dangerously innocent lilt laced through his voice, "We will treat you kindly, I promise."

"You call this kindness?" Erin chokes.

"When you join us," Nikolai clarifies.

"Agree to it!" Sean yells from the corner, Lorenzo poking him in the cheek with the heated nozzle.

"You always have been a fucking traitor!" Erin snaps at him.

"I'm about to be cremated over here!" Sean yells.

"And the rest of us are having such a party!" Erin yells back, words dripping with sarcasm.

"Join us or Sean gets burned," Nikolai warns, and both Arthur and Erin freeze in their struggling.

"Put Erin down, let me talk to her," Sean shouts to Nikolai.

"They are twins," Lorenzo says, "My counterpart is the only person who can get through to his twin."

"Und Flavio ist das nur eine wer sprechen Verstand in Lorenzo kann," Ludwig agrees.

"Flavio isn't needed to 'talk sense' into me!" Lorenzo snaps.

Nikolai, with a nod to Lorenzo, puts Erin gently down on the floor. Sean scrambles from the corner straight to his angry sister, coddling her and twittering quickly in Irish Gaelic.

* * *

><p><strong>English teacher off school and din't think to set cover work, so I wrote this instead of staring at a book for four hours. <strong>

**I really had no idea where or how to end this chapter, so sorry about its suckiness. **

**Lutz missing 'his' Gilbert will crop up more than once, and will be very important at the end of the story.  
>Gilbert's journal(s) will also be important.<strong>

**'Alistair' is Scotland. He'll be in the story soon, a couple of chapters I think, with Dylan (Wales) and Cymru (dragon)  
>Why does Erin have a miniature bazooka? Why the hell not?<strong>

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	6. Blood on his boots

**Note; this is the chapter where the gore starts**

* * *

><p>"So, Arthur, do you intend to let Oliver cross over?" Nikolai asks the Brit, towering over him as Lutz pins him to the floor.<p>

Arthur's only response is to spit, the thick mixture of blood and phlegm clinging to the toe of Nikolai's boot. Calmly, Nikolai steps forward on that boot, crushing Arthur's left hand under the sole and putting a large portion of his solid weight on it. Arthur lets out a long string of curses as Nikolai twists his leg, grinding the hand underneath it, snapping bones and tearing skin and warping fingers until Arthur's screaming in pain.

"How about now?" Nikolai asks, leaning back on his heel, driving the hard sole down into already broken fingers.

"How about fuck you?" Arthur spits back.

Nikolai sighs, stepping off Arthur's foot with a lazily flicked kick to the shoulder, making Arthur wince as he snatches in his hurt hand to cradle the mess of blood, skin and bone. Nikolai walks over to one of Ludwig's discarded guns, Gilbert shuffling away as the Russian gets closer.

"Can you still write?" Nikolai asks him plainly.

"Yeah, it's my right arm that's hurt," Gilbert answers, fear suppressed, Gilbird tweeting in worry.

"Good. Give me ten minutes and I will have someone bandage that up for you," Nikolai says, picking up the handgun.

Arthur stares right at the gun arrogantly as Nikolai lines the barrel up between the Brit's signature emerald eyes.

Lorenzo yells out suddenly, distracting Nikolai. Sean has the Italian pinned to the floor and is once again tearing the flamethrower away. Erin stands solid, a wooden stick aimed at Nikolai, then at the gun as it comes into her view, and she barks the word "_Expelliarmus_!"

Arthur breathes a barely suppressed sigh of relief as Nikolai throws the now-useless gun down, Lutz growling at Erin about wasting good weaponry.

Erin points the wand at Nikolai; "_Confringo_!"

Nikolai dives to the side to narrowly avoid a blast of Irish magic, and Erin takes the opportunity to put a confusion curse "_Confundo_!" on Lutz.

"_Impervious_!" Sean shouts, wand aimed at Nikolai, Lorenzo on the floor next to him.

Nikolai's arms and legs are forced together and held there as if he's completely bound. Lutz laughs aloud as Nikolai falls helplessly to the ground.

"Well done, you have got me," Nikola says dully as the Ireland twins hi-five, "Now let me go. It's not like I did anything wrong."

"Only trying to take over the world," Arthur says sarcastically, climbing slowly and carefully up off the floor, injured hand cradled close to his chest.

"What the fuck did you do to Lutz?" Lorenzo demands.

"Confusion curse," Sean answers calmly.

"Lift it!"

"Nope."

Growling, Lorenzo tears a knife from his belt and buries it in Sean's thigh. "Lift it _now_!"

"_Finite Incantatem_!" Sean says immediately, wand pointed at Lutz.

"And whatever you've put on Nikolai," Lorenzo orders, second knife pulled from his belt.

"Binding charm," Sean answers.

"Fucking lift it!" Lorenzo yells.

"_Finite Incantatem_!" Sean says immediately, wand pointed at Nikolai.

The ends of Nikolai's scarf whip forward, slapping wands out of hands and wrapping around the throats of an Irish twin each. Lutz dives up from the floor, once again grabbing Arthur and pinning him back down, digging two fingers inside the back of Arthur's bloody hand until the Brit gives up struggling.

"May I borrow one of your knives?" Nikolai asks the Italian, who complies with a smirk. "Go fix up Gilbert, and get him writing in his journal again."

Lorenzo obeys with a nod, kicking Gilbert up to his feet and following him to the kitchen and the first aid kit Ludwig invested in for Feliciano's cooking clumsies.

"Erin, Sean, this is your last opportunity to join us willingly," Nikolai says.

Erin spits at him, more like her brother than she will ever allow anyone to suggest, and Sean whines in fear.

"Sie werden nicht das tun," Lutz says.

"They can't if we don't give them the opportunity," Nikolai scolds.

"Irischlampe," Lutz spits, seemingly at Erin.

"Don't be rude," Nikolai snaps at the German, "She isn't Rhiona. Yet."

"And I'm not going to be!" Erin says with a kick to Nikolai's ribs.

"Are you sure?" Nikolai asks.

Answered only with a glare, Nikolai takes the knife and presses the tip into Sean's chest. Dragging it to the side, leaving a line of seeping red behind it, Nikolai traces around Sean's heart too practised and accurate for anyone to be comfortable. Blade flat, he presses it under the shape, peeling the skin away to reveal muscles tensed in pain.

Sean yells in pain, struggling violently as more and more of Nikolai's scarf wraps around his flailing limbs, having to partially unwind from Nikolai's neck. Nikolai severs through the muscles, the tense tendons snapping the muscles back almost immediately and sometimes tearing the muscles if Nikolai doesn't cut through them fast enough.

Nikolai takes a large pair of pliers, taken from Ludwig's shed and usually used for cutting through large branches. He hooks one half under Sean's left third rib, the only thing stopping Nikolai from pulling Sean's heart out from between his lungs and sternum, and pulls the handles together firmly, the crunch of splitting bone unhearable under Sean's anguished scream.

Both Erin and Arthur pleading, Sean wailing in agony, Nikolai presses his fingers into Sean's chest, curling them cruelly gentle around Sean's fluttering heart and pulling. Slowly, centimeter by painful centimetre, Nikolai wriggles and coaxes the panicking muscle out from behind its guarding sternum until the connected veins and arteries are ripping and tearing, cascades of red flushing down Sean's body to the floor below him, soaking his clothes, the entrapping scarf and the carpet. And finally, as the last thin vein snaps, Sean's head rolls back, scream cut off into an awful dead silence.

"Well done," Arthur says, the tremble of his voice making his sarcasm completely redundant, "You killed Sean. And in a few hours he'll have healed and woken up, so what exactly have you accomplished here?"

"A lot more than you think," Nikolai answers, a little too calm about the dead body hanging from his scarf and the unbeating heart still dripping in his heart.

Erin choking silent sobs from the other end of his scarf, Nikolai wipes Sean's heart clean on his scarf, muttering to it until the veins turn a deep black. He stuffs it back into Sean's chest, cramming it lazily behind its sternum. He pulls on the muscles retreated back to their tendons behind the skin, matching up the halves and holding them together until they forcibly heal with a soft red glow of Nikolai's magic. The heart convulses and twitches and spins, trying to fit itself back in its place, as the muscles seal over it. Nikolai puts the patch of skin back, the line sealing itself over until only a thin pink scar remains.

The scarf unravels, Sean dropping unceremoniously to the floor. His body twitches and convulses, red smoke writhing from his dropped jaw. Arthur curses under his breath in a mixture of shock and disbelief, and Erin begins to mutter under her breath. As the seemingly innocent murmuring continues, the red tendrils thin and flail, dying.

A chunk of Nikolai's scarf wraps around Erin's head, tightening over her mouth until her jaw is held open and the wool, disturbingly metallic in taste, is sticking dryly to her tongue. She kicks, connecting with Nikolai's ribs until the protective bones begin to make crunching noises, but Nikolai doesn't even flinch, the scarf tightening and tightening around Erin's head and throat and torso until she can barely breathe, and her exhausted limbs fall limp, leaving Erin to only glare at Nikolai, breathing deeply through the itchy wool filter.

"Now, Erin," Nikolai says to the glaring woman calmly, "Do you really want to have to go through that too?"

His only answer is a continued glare and a raised middle finger, which with a flick of a wrist is on the floor, disconnected from its owner yelling anew in shocked pain.

"You shouldn't be doing this!" Arthur yells from his pinned place on the floor, "You're making a big mistake, and you're going to regret all of it."

"The three of you will change, whether you like it or not," Nikolai answers coldly.

"We won't be the last people to oppose you, though. and we're definitely not the worst who'll oppose you, or the strongest. You've got the entire British Empire coming your way, and I'll guarantee they'll be _so_ pissed."

"They'll follow their precious father," Nikolai says calmly, almost arrogantly, "They will obey me the same way you will."

"I'm not the father to the entire Empire. And I'm not the only leader. Who do you think raised _me_?"

"Are you threatening to set your big brother Alistair on me?" Nikolai asks, almost laughing."Lutz, fetch the Canadian."

"Matt?" Lutz asks, "Doch mag ich Matt."

"It's not Matt," Nikolai snaps, "Just find him and bring him here."

"He won't find him!" Arthur says, "Matthew's practically invisible!"

Lutz nods his obedience to Nikolai, dragging Arthur to his feet and throwing him at Nikolai, the Brit getting wrapped tightly in the scarf stained in his brother's blood. A soft glow emits from the opposite end of the scarf, enveloping the silenced Erin. Lutz sneers at her as he passes, slamming the door as he leaves, mumbling some strange song about sparkle parties to himself.

"Lorenzo?" Nikolai calls to the kitchen, "Is Gilbert bandaged yet?"

"Yep," Lorenzo answers, emerging from the kitchen, Gilbert trailing behind him with his precious journal coddled tightly in his arms and Gilbird twittering away on his head.

"Go fetch Elizabeta," Nikolai orders. "And be gentle with her."

"I don't want to!" Lorenzo whines. "And you said I could use my flamethrower on her!"

"But Liz loves you."

"No, she loves the little boy she could dress up and ship with Roman!" Lorenzo snaps, "She _will_ be _burned_."

"But she'd do anything for you," Nikolai presses, "You can pretty much boss Liz around."

"That's a point…" Lorenzo agrees, thinking.

"Go get her, then," Nikolai says.

Lorenzo skips off with a vaguely Feliciano style "Ve!", swinging his beloved flamethrower from his hand. As the door closes, Nikolai unravels his scarf, gently putting the human representative of the Republic of Ireland down on the ground.

Arthur sobs aloud as Rhiona, thinner and significantly more freckled than Erin, blinks tired willow eyes up at him.

* * *

><p><strong>English teacher's still off, and my Media and Sociology teacher (same teacher) will probably be off soon due to an ill family member, meaning this might get updated more. Or I could be productive and revise me lessons, get ahead on coursework, and get caught up on my free reading, but who the fuck wants to be <em>productive<em>?**

**Roman is the Holy Roman Empire  
>ElizabetaLiz are 1p/2p Hungary respectively  
>Alistair is Scotland. Think I said that last chapter, but I'm just reminding you<br>'Irishlampe' is a mash up of the words 'Irisch' and 'Schlampe' which is German for 'Irish' (no shit) and 'Bitch'. So Lutz calls Erin/Rhiona 'Irish-bitch'. **

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	7. These three to t'other three

**This chapter should have been called "Erin to Rhiona, Sean to Seamus, Arthur to Oliver" but that was too long for FFN.**

* * *

><p>"Give Erin back!" Arthur screams as Rhiona stands herself up. Erin's work overalls and old t-shirt have been replaced by a blouse, long skirt and an apron, all three clearly having been fixed and re-hemmed several times; in fact, the blouse and skirt seem to have been sized down from a larger shirt and a pair of trousers. Her hair is ridiculously long, plaited and wrapped three times around her waist before being wrapped over itself to hold it in place, the scratty ribbon holding it together hanging by her knees. She's skeletal, bones visibly kneading under her skin as she moves, her skin is peeling and her eyes are dull, lifeless without Erin's cheeky, rebellious spark.<p>

"Rhiona? Vodka." Nikolai orders her plainly.

Rhiona leaves with a hurried courtesy, tottering into the kitchen with short, hopping steps.

"Final chance, Arthur," Nikolai says, tone bored and impatient.

Arthur doesn't answer, staring at the kitchen door as Gilbert appears, "Who's she?"

"Rhiona," Nikolai snaps, "You knew her as Erin."

"Oh, okay," Gilbert says, "And who's that?"

"You don't need to know everything!"

Gilbert holds up his journal pointedly. Nikolai growls, forcing himself to calm down; lips pursed, shoulders heaving, eyes wide; an expression Gilbert grew used to back when he'd lived with Ivan. "I will get to you in a minute, Gilbert; I am busy."

Gilbert nods, retreating back into the kitchen, almost barreling Rhiona over as she tries to slink past him, making Gilbird twitter in alarm. She barely notices him as he apologises, slipping straight past him into the living room, putting the vodka down on the coffee table. She puts a large glass down next to it and pulls a can of draught out of the apron's pocket, cracking it and pouring it into the glass as it froths up. Seamus straightens up at the crack, awake and alert.

Seamus seems smaller than Sean, and much more weather-beaten. His work overalls are more patch than original fabric, his boots are old and dirty, his hands are scarred and discoloured from manual labour. Rhiona hands him the drink silently, and he drinks a good half in one go before slamming it down on the table with a loud burp.

"Pleasant," Arthur mutters, and Nikolai snorts a laugh.

"He might not be polite, but he's the most hard-working person I know," Nikolai says, "When he wants to be. Of course, Oliver knows all of this already."

Arthur doesn't answer. Without a protest from the Brit, the red glow, becoming so familiar to Gilbert, consumes Arthur, and slowly peels away to reveal Oliver in his familiar distasteful ensemble; his shirt and wool vest in varying shades of pink, the faded bow tie, the ill-fitting trousers. His hair is bleached almost white, cigarette burns line his cheeks in a freckle-like pattern, his skin is blotchy with chemical burns, and his smile is so wide it looks painful, even more so than Ivan's used to be.

"Oh," Oliver says, looking around, "This is what Yong-Su was talking about, isn't it?"

"Yes," Nikolai answers, putting Oliver down carefully.

"That explains an awful lot," Oliver says breathlessly, rubbing his hands together.

"Try not to think about," Seamus says, slurping at his draught.

"That's easy for you to say, poppet," Oliver's voice is dangerously sweet, but Seamus just burps at him.

"So we've got Arthur's counterpart here, as well?" Gilbert asks from the kitchen door.

Oliver blinks at him, "Yes, love. Oliver Kirkland." He approaches the Prussian, hand outstretched. Gilbert shakes his hand cautiously, Gilbird twittering in worry.

"This is Rhiona, this is Seamus," Nikolai points to the twins, "Seamus, go and tell Gilbert everything that's happened. Oliver, the kitchen is through there."

"Cake, anybody?" Oliver chirps.

"Yep!" Seamus answers with a salute of his drink.

Rhiona nods as Gilbert sits himself between her and Seamus at the coffee table. Nikolai doesn't answer; Oliver already knows how fond Nikolai is of his baking. Just like Matt and François are fond of his baking. But they don't really have as much of an option in that as Nikolai did.

Gilbird flaps over to Rhiona, landing on her shoulder and chirping in her ear.

"That means he likes you," Gilbert says with a grin. Rhiona just give him an uncomfortable smile.

"I'm starting to worry about Lutz and Lorenzo," Nikolai says as Seamus finishes explaining Sean's torture and the three transformations to the most awesome scribe in existence, "Lutz I know is lazy, but Lorenzo is taking longer than I expected."

"Elizabeta was one tough cookie, though," Seamus says idly.

"We want cookies, too?" Oliver asks from the doorway.

"No," Seamus says, beginning to explain when he pauses; "Yes."

As Oliver skips off, Lutz appears on the driveway, strolling lazily along with a body slung over his shoulder.

"Lutz is back," Nikolai announces.

"Before Lorenzo?" Seamus asks, "That surprises me."

Nikolai pauses, staring at the ceiling as if he's trying to remember something. "No, this is right. Lutz is back first, but he fucked up."

"Who's he got with him?" Gilbert asks, peering out of the window.

"He was sent to collect the Canadian representative," Nikolai answers.

"Birdie?" Gilbert asks, "You're not going to hurt Birdie, are you?"

"Only if he defies me," Nikolai says plainly, "Get that written down."

Gilbert growls at him, but obediently sits himself down, scrawling in his journal. Lutz comes striding in, throwing the body down.

"Morning, Matt," Seamus greets. Nikolai is silent.

"Wha…?" Alfred F. Jones, human representative of the United States of America, sits up, dazed and confused.

"Lutz Beilschmidt, you have fucked up," Seamus snaps at him, and Gilbert snorts in laughter as he writes that down, word for word.

"Sie sah beide die gleich zur mich," Lutz says with a shrug.

"They look nothing alike!" Gilbert says with a snap.

"Unsere Al und Matt sah mehr anders," Lutz whines, "Al habt Piercings, und Matt habt mehr lange Haare und seine Sonnenbrille."

"Excuses, excuses," Gilbert dismisses, and Seamus laughs.

"He just doesn't know these representatives well enough," Oliver says calmly from the door, "He's more familiar with ours."

"What's going on?" Alfred asks, head whipping around, "Why do you guys look so weird?"

"Because you touch yourself at night," Seamus says bluntly, and Rhiona giggles silently at Alfred's frown.

"No, seriously though," Alfred says, climbing to his feet. He scans everyone up and down, from Gilbert all the way around the room to Nikolai. "Have you had a haircut?"

"Yes, Fredka," Nikolai says sarcastically, "I have had a haircut."

"Thought so," Alfred says with his American Smile™.

"Fredka, we would like you to join us," Nikolai says.

"Doing what?" Alfred asks, suspicious, "And why'd you send Deutschmark over here to basically kidnap me?"

"Because I and the rest of the second players are taking over the world."

"Woah, what the shit?! I thought you'd just gotten a haircut; I never thought you coulda gone _2p_!"

"I know, Fredka. Now shut up and let me turn you into your second player."

"Oh, hell no," Alfred pulls his gun out of it's holster, aiming at Nikolai. Of course Alfred open carries; he's white so he can do that without getting arrested for 'seeming dangerous'.

"That is going to get you literally nowhere," Gilbert says dully, "Sean tried, Arthur tried, Erin had a fucking _bazooka_. Just give up while you still have your dignity."

Alfred blinks at him. "Dude, what the hell has gotten into you? This is so unlike you, all good and submissive, just sat there with your little journal. It's so… _un-awesome_."

"I've seen what this guy's capable of," Gilbert says with a shrug, "Pick your battles, Alfred."

"There's a difference between picking your battles and giving up completely," Alfred scolds.

Gilbert shakes his head, "I thought I'd taught you well, back in your revolution days. But, no. Not only are you not listening to the advice of someone who has seen your 'enemy' firsthand, but you've completely taken your attention off the 'enemy' for several seconds. Would you like your situation in three words or more?"

Alfred blinks stupidly at him, then looks across at Nikolai. The ends of Nikolai's scarf are encircling Alfred waist, and tighten quickly around him, hoisting him into the air. Alfred shoots his gun, blinded as his sight becomes engulfed by a red glow.

* * *

><p><strong>A lot happens in this chapter. Like, a lot.<br>**

**Alfred's situation in three words is "Russian black magic", in more is "Nikolai's scarf is about to turn you second player. Don't ask me how, it just is."  
>Bonus chapterstory to whoever reviews with the origin of the "Three words or more" reference. It's from a song.**

**Alfred's transformation won't be that slow.  
>Gilbert's kinda given up. Or he's lying low, gaining trust, learning. That may or may not be a spoiler.<br>Matt is 2p!Canada.  
>Lutz, Lorenzo and later Matt run a lot of errands for Nikolai. I was watching Nightmare Before Christmas and now refer to Lutz, Lorenzo and Matt as Nikolai's henchmen, much like Oogie Boogie and Lock, Shock and Barrel.<strong>

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	8. Alfred to Al

"How is the cake?" Nikolai asks Oliver.

"It's a lie," Seamus chirps.

"It needs to bake, love," Oliver answers.

"I was hoping to give some to Fredka before he turns into everyone's least favourite vegan," Nikolai says with a pout.

"But it'll be _wasted_ on him!" Oliver whines.

"Can he lick the bowl at least?" Nikolai asks.

"Doch will ich der Bowl lecken!" Lutz whines.

"You can lick the next one out," Oliver soothes. Lutz gives a little cheer as Oliver heads back into the kitchen, re-emerging with the mixing bowl.

Nikolai takes the bowl, scraping the batter onto the wooden spoon and holding it out to Alfred, who grabs it with his mouth instantly, smearing the red batter across his cheeks, the greedy kid he's always been. He pales, spitting it out and almost throwing up.

"That tasted really metallic," Alfred says, spitting a few times.

"That's because there's blood in it," Oliver says bluntly.

"Where the hell did you even find blood in Ludwig's house?" Alfred asks, shocked. The bloody batter has left a macabre red grin across his face, clinging to his lips and cheeks. Replace the blood with acid and that's how the Joker got his scars.

"It's Sean's," Oliver answers, and Gilbert gips, Rhiona patting him gently on the back, promising to remind Gilbert not to have any of the cake. The cake may not be a lie, but it is fucking grim.

"That is disturbing," Alfred says, jaw loose in disgust, "You sick, sick bastard."

Alfred falls silent as his face suddenly twitches, muscles tensing and relaxing unwillingly, sending a flash of pain across his visage in the sudden spasm. A few seconds pass, and Alfred's legs kick out seemingly randomly in a second spasm. A third spasm wrecks through his body, then they come quicker than anyone can keep track of, Alfred having a seizure in Nikolai's scarf.

It stops much like it started; slowing down until it has stopped completely, the body limp.

"Fredka?" Nikolai asks.

"What?" Al drawls.

Al is more visibly built than Alfred. His skin and hair have darkened in the almost constant sun, his clothes only just fit him, and tattoos, seemingly gang tattoos, line his limbs. Several piercings shine from his face, including a snake bite piercing that his bar-punched tongue darts out to lick at his smirks in his lazily arrogant way.

"That hurt, you bastard," Al says, His voice is just as loud as Alfred's, but has a more Southern twang to it.

Gilbert snorts a laugh, "Your Russia and America don't get on, either?"

"Nope," Seamus answers.

"You fucking did that on purpose, didn't you?" Al asks, laughing as he speaks, "You knew that'd hurt a bitch, so you did it on purpose."

"Yes," Nikolai says bluntly, the scarf unwinding quickly, Al dropping several feet and landing in a heap on the floor in the least graceful way possible. The scarf flicks back out, grabbing the gun and whipping it away before Al can pull himself together.

"Cake's ready!" Oliver sings, holding up the tin with mitted hands, "It's still a bit hot though, so be careful when you eat it. Rhiona, run and fetch me some plates, there's a dear."

Oliver turns the cake out, putting the cake tin down on the coffee table and cutting large chunks for Nikolai and Lutz, and healthier portions for himself and the twins. "Al?"

"Nope," Al says bluntly, "That cannibal shit is going no where near my mouth."

Oliver's eye twitches, but he moves on to Gilbert, smile obviously forced, "What about you Gilbert, dear?"

"Not hungry, thanks," Gilbert says, forcibly polite.

"I don't care if you're hungry or not," Oliver's voice is sickly sweet, "You don't want to seem _rude_, do you?"

"I think I can manage a small slice," Gilbert says sheepishly.

Oliver cuts him a fairly small slice, staring at the Prussian as he takes a cautious bite and pretends to chew, forcing a smile. As soon as something else, Al to be specific, has the baker's attention, Gilbert spits it out, hiding the plate behind him and scrawling furiously in his journal.

"And how is everything back home?" Nikolai asks Al.

"Running smoothly," Al says, "Matt basically took over, loyal little bastard he is. He was there, wasn't he? When you and Ivan swapped over?"

"Yes," Nikolai answers, "Matt and Yong-Su were both with me."

"Oh, three-way?" Al says with an arrogant grin, earning himself a direct punch to the face.

"So Matt got on with his orders," Nikolai asks.

"To the letter," Al answers, blood now dribbling from his nose, "Walked to the middle of the village, and shot his rifle in the air. Fucking woke me up. And he just stood there, shouting "Operation Journal has begun! Operation Journal has begun!" with Ivan just stood behind him, confused as hell."

Nikolai snorts a laugh at that.

"Natasha's been helping getting the nations from this side settled into your little kingdom," Al continues, "They're confused and a little shocked, obviously. Yong-Su's running himself ragged; he can't decide whether to help or rub it in their faces that they have to believe him now.

"Ivan's been following Matt around like a little lost puppy," Al's grin grows, and laughter lines his voice, "It's a little adorable. And Matt doesn't seem to care. Almost like he's _used_ to huge-ass Russians following him about."

That comment earns Al a second punch to the face.

"Matt was already aware of Ivan's curiosity," Nikolai says plainly, "And he's lived with you; I'm sure he can put up with any 'odd' behaviours."

"He's also put up with _you_ for the last fifty years," Al says, earning himself a third punch to the face.

"Are they always this violent with each other?" Gilbert asks Rhiona, who nods in confirmation.

* * *

><p><strong>Spot the Freudian slip! As usual, bonus chapterstory!  
><strong>

**I may or may not ship RusCan. There may or may not be light RusCan references throughout the story. You may or may not take the references that may or may not be there in any way you may or may not like.**

**Matt, Nikolai and Lorenzo moved into Lutz's house after Gilbert died.  
>All the nations live close together, in a largeish village. Nikolai's basically in charge, Matt, Lorenzo and Lutz are his right-hand men. Most of the nations have 'jobs' within the village<br>****Natasha is 2p!Belarus  
>Rhiona kind of turns into Gilbert's 2p!information source. They also eat potatoes together. Whoo, stereotypes!<strong>

**The cake tin has been left on the table. That'll be relevant in the next chapter.**

**I own nothing  
>I'm sorry if you don't ship RusCan. I'll try to keep the references light. I'll probably fail.<br>-Laurel Silver**


	9. Elizabeta to Liz

The room falls silent as the front door slams open, followed by a screeching yell that send a shudder of fear and worry down Gilbert's spin. Lorenzo comes striding in, nodding a greeting to Lutz and Nikolai, the feisty representative of Hungary slung in a lazy fireman's lift over his shoulders, Elizabeta kicking and striking him wildly. He throws her down on the floor by the coffee table, not caring when she smacks her head on the floor.

She climbs up angrily fast, grabbing the still-warm cake tin and holding it up over her shoulder in warning, glaring about the room. A cake tin is only a cake tin if that's what it means to you. A cake tin can be a weapon if you so decide. Whoo, postmodernism!

"Hungary, put the tin down," Nikolai says gently.

"No!" Elizabeta barks, bringing the cake tin down over Nikolai's head, and pretty much everyone winces, some in fear some in anticipation of a fight, at the awful crack it makes.

Nikolai barely even blinks. Seamus whistles; "I told you she's a tough cookie."

Elizabeta turns around to smack Seamus as well but Gilbert beats her to it, knocking Seamus about the back of the head with an open hand, Gilbird ecking angrily at the redhead's crown. Rhiona stifles her giggles at her brother's yell.

"Elizabeta," Nikolai says, re-gaining the ex-knight's attention, "We would like you to join us."

"No!" Elizabeta snaps, smacking Nikolai again.

"We've all been through this," Seamus says dully, pinning Gilbird down under his hand, "We've all lost, just give up now and keep at least _some_ of your dignity."

Nikolai's scarf wraps around Elizabeta, pinning her arms to her chest and squeezing until she drops the cake tin. Rhiona, after an encouraging kick from Oliver, snatches up the tin and scurries off to the kitchen to clean it. Elizabeta watches after her, recognising her as Erin, the closest thing she has to a 'girl-friend' to talk about their pasts as lady-knights fighting against men who thought they were incapable and defending men who called themselves gentlemen.

Gilbird wriggles out from Seamus's hand, giving the Irishman an angry peck to the thumb before flapping off to hide in Elizabeta's hair. Elizabeta, confused, searches out Gilbert, who gives her an awkward wave.

"Even you?" Elizabeta asks Gilbert, shocked.

"Even the awesome me," Gilbert answers with a sigh.

Nikolai shakes Elizabeta. Much like Ivan, Nikolai doesn't like to be ignored.

"Why are you still you?" Elizabeta ignores Nikolai anyway, "Still your first player?"

"Apparently my second player died, like, fifty years ago," Gilbert answers, "So I had to stay like this."

"I want to stay like this," Elizabeta says, finally reverting her attention back to Nikolai.

"Liz is much more compliant," Nikolai says plainly, "And much less violent."

"And she's less yaoi-creepy," Lorenzo agrees.

"I'm not _just_ some yaoi-freak!" Elizabeta snaps.

"Explain the dresses!" Lorenzo snaps back, "Explain all the encouragement to show Roman the dresses!"

"That happened in your universe too?" Gilbert asks.

"It was so _cute_," Elizabeta squeals, "And I was your big sister; it was my job to encourage your little friendship."

"By putting me in dresses?!" Lorenzo shrieks, and Lutz giggles.

"It _was_ really cute," Gilbert agrees with Elizabeta.

"Cupcakes!" Oliver hollers as he walks in, Rhiona a few steps behind, with a huge plate of the miniature cakes.

"How in the name of God did you manage to get those mixed, baked, cooled and iced in this little time?!" Gilbert asks, completely confused.

"This is actually quite slow for him," Al says, "Probably because he's in a different kitchen to his own."

"Are you hungry, Elizabeta?" Nikolai asks, more sickly-sweet than Oliver's baking. Seriously, his baking is like some sort of demented juju of poison and cannibalism.

Lutz laughs aloud. He clears his throat and speaks in English, accent thick with its German accent, almost as if he hasn't spoken it for fifty years; "Is Hungary hungry?"

Lorenzo face-palms.

"No," Elizabeta says, "From what I've heard from Young-Soo, your England has a bad habit of poisoning his baking."

"Would I do that to you?" Oliver asks.

"Yes." is the unanimous answer.

"Eat one," Nikolai orders, shoving one of the little cakes of horror into Elizabeta's face.

Elizabeta seals her lips together. Nikolai grabs her by the jaw, pulling until he's forced her mouth open and forces the cake in, clamping the hand over her mouth, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise. Elizabeta simply glares at him, refusing to move her jaw and throat in any way.

"It's up to you; either eat the cupcake and join us, or we'll go after your ex-husband," Nikolai growls at her.

Elizabeta's eyes widen. A long pause for thought, and she swallows the metallic sponge, the unchewed chunks sticking in her throat and making her almost choke.

"Eaten. Put me down now," Elizabeta says firmly, a red handprint beginning to burn its bruising way into her cheeks and lips.

"No. Have another," Nikolai orders plainly, holding a second cupcake to her face.

With a glare, Elizabeta manages to eat the second one herself, despite Nikolai shoving it in her face to hurry her.

"Two's enough," Elizabeta snaps as Nikolai holds up a third.

"But there's so many left!" Nikolai says, Ivan's dangerously innocent pout giving his voice a childish whine.

"I can take them with me for later," Elizabeta suggests.

"What makes you think you're leaving?" Nikolai asks sweetly.

"I'm not staying," Elizabeta says firmly.

Nikolai huffs a silent laugh, putting Elizabeta down on her feet. As soon as the scarf unravels, no long supporting her weight, Elizabeta collapses to the floor with a cry of shock, Gilbird flapping away, twittering in alarm as he settles himself on Rhiona's shoulder.

"Are you sure you don't want another?" Nikolai asks, crouching by Elizabeta and forcing the cupcake into her mouth before she can spit her insult at him. Which is a shame, I'm sure it would have been very scathing and sassy.

Elizabeta glares as she forces the unchewed cake down, and she forces her limp arm to swing around, slapping Nikolai in the face, weakly but Elizabeta still smirks in triumph.

"Not long now," Nikolai says gently.

"Fuck you," Elizabeta spits.

"No, it's Lorenzo you fuck," Nikolai says plainly.

Lorenzo snorts in laughter. That red glow finally engulfs Elizabeta, spreading out from her stomach, and peels away again to reveal brown hair faded to ginger and brushed up into a bowed ribbon, green work clothes replaced by a pale pink dress and an apron, her built frame thinned down into something delicate and frail and so completely unlike Elizabeta that Gilbert almost can't believe it, that this girl can call herself a version of Elizabeta.

Gilbert cries onto the page as he writes "Elizabeta 'Magyarország' Hedervary replaced by Liz 'Vengriya' Hedervary, 11-10-14 16:37 CET"

* * *

><p><strong>Two updates in one day?! I'm spoiling you!<br>Seriously though, this will update _really_ randomly. I've got shit to do, places to be, racist-patriarchal capitalism to smash, hair to braid; I'm a fucking busy person, and you're just gonna have to bear with me.**

**'Magyarorszag' means Hungary in Hungarian  
>'Vengriya' means Hungary in Russian<br>'11-10-14' is the eleventh of October 2014, as in Germany it's written Day Month Year. Only American write the date Month Day Year.  
>'CET' is the Central European Timezone, the timezone Berlin is in<strong>

**Lutz makes bad puns a lot  
>Oliver is a cake baking <em>machine<em>  
>Liz is mad for Lorenzo<br>Lorenzo loves the *ahem* attention  
>Now imagine Lorenzo and Liz singing 'Dammit Janet' from Rocky Horror, with Lutz and Matt as the monotone back up singers and Gilbert repetedly shouting "But they're not your names!" I don't know where it came from either, but it is pretty funny.<strong>

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	10. François

A click sounds from the kitchen door, and a deep sigh as a cigarette is lit. François leans lazily against the doorframe, huffing out a breath of smoke. François, Oliver's babysitter and fuck buddy, is sickly-looking and unkempt, very different from the representative of France that Gilbert is used to. His stained clothes hang off his frame, his hair is unbrushed and dragged into a bunch tied with what looks like one of Oliver's ugly bow-ties, his jaw is unshaven, his eyes seem to be trying to sink into his skull to hide behind the shadowy bags clinging to his eyelids.

"Where the actual fuck did you appear from?" Al asks plainly.

"The third circle of hell," is François's blunt answer.

Oliver squeals a cheer as he glomps François into a tight hug. "I fetched him!"

"How did you even have the time to do that?" Seamus asks, "Around the cake, the cupcakes, the cookies, whatever the fuck else you've been baking, as well as being as creepy as shit? How do you find the time to kidnap and magically turn a Frenchman around all that?"

"You underestimate my abilities," Oliver says plainly.

"And my counterpart wasn't exactly a challenge," François drawls, "I wasn't waiting anywhere near as long as I expected."

"Matt told you to prepare, then?" Nikolai asks.

"Yes."

"Loyal little bastard," Al grunts, "Ruski still following him about?"

"He was. Matt was trying to get him to stay at the house with Ludwig and Feliciano, but I turned before that conversation ended."

"Any word on who's next?" Nikolai asks.

François laughs around his cigarette, "He mentioned Chuckie. He also mentioned that you would probably forget."

"You wanna know what I think?" Al pipes up.

"No." Is the unanimous reply.

"I think we should overthrow Nikolai, and have Matt as leader," Al says anyway. Did you think anyone's opinion could stop Al from expressing his? Get fucked. "Just have that sweet-toothed, stoner lumberjack telling us all what to do. He'd much less of a penis than Doktor Psycho over here. Plus, it seems Matt is the only one who has any idea what he's doing."

Nikolai kicks Al firmly in the ribs. "Shut up and fetch Peter."

"There's only one problem with that plan," Al says, smirking as he massages his throbbing side. That kick cracked the bones, at least.

"And what would that be?" Nikolai asks, Ivan's threatening smile splitting into his cheeks.

"I haven't a fucking clue where the little bastard's gonna be. He's a cunt to find at the best of times, but now other nations are going missing he's going to be hiding."

"You're right," Nikolai admits begrudgingly, "We will have to lay low for a while."

"Yeah, that's _so_ going to lure him out," Al says with an eye roll.

Nikolai kicks Al a second time, and the crack of ribs is audible, "Since you're only proving yourself useless, I am going to fetch Yao, and I am going to do it personally."

"Suits me," Al shrugs, "I'll just sit here with Uncle Seamus and Herr Steroids. And the others, too, I guess."

"Glad to know you're thinking of us," Gilbert snarls.

"Where've Liz and Loz gone?"

"Haben Sex," Lutz answers bluntly.

"Already?"

"But I wanted to give Lorenzo a cupcake!" Oliver whines.

"Nobody likes your cupcakes!" Al yells.

"But they're so pretty and delightful," Oliver chirps, "Aren't they, France-y?"

François simply nods in agreement, taking a cupcake, completely poker-faced, as Oliver nudges him semi-encouragingly, semi-warningly with the tray of the cannibalistic 'treats'.

"Yeah, but underneath all that pretty icing and sparkles and unicorn piss, the cake is nothing but a _lie_!1!" Al hisses. Don't ask me how he managed to say '!1!' out loud, he just did.

"Your death will be a lie because I will make it look like an accident," Oliver hisses.

Al dives behind Lutz, who pulls an expression that can only be described as 'what the fuck?'. Or 'was zum Teufel?' since he's German. You now know how to say 'what the fuck' in German. And you thought fanfiction couldn't teach you anything.

"Come on, Alfie-dear, I made one especially for you," Oliver says, holding out a cupcake with a red and white pipe icing covered in blue fondant stars.

"Nope!" Al says bluntly.

"You know you want to," Oliver says, and Lutz is trying to get out from between Britain's answer to Hannibal Lecter and America's answer to something.

"Leave him alone, you bastard!" Seamus barks.

"You're all so silly!" Oliver chirps.

"Sit down, Oliver," François pulls on Oliver's shoulder.

"I'll have a cupcake," Nikolai says, taking a cupcake decorated with chocolate and yellow icing piped to look like petals; a sunflower. Sunflowers actually represent happiness. That's two things you've learned now. Give yourselves a pat on the back.

"Listen to you Frenchie fuck-buddy," Seamus snarls.

"Oh, I will," Oliver sniggers. François rolls his eyes, dragging Oliver backwards into one of the armchairs, "Ohh, now, now, don't be getting rough, France-y."

Seamus, Al and Gilbert all gip. Oliver pulls François into the armchair with him, their legs wrapping together and their bodies pressing against each other in order to fit.

"Weren't you fetching Yao?" Oliver asks Nikolai out of seemingly nowhere.

Nikolai blinks. "I forgot."

"This is why Matt should be in charge," Al says plainly.

Nikolai kicks Al again, this time in the back of the knee. Al's legs buckle, and he strangles Lutz on his own shirt as he pulls it, still using the German as a human shield from Oliver.

"Somebody work out how to get Lorenzo down here without having to actually go into his bedroom," Nikolai orders openly.

Lutz crouches, pulling the shirt over his head as he does so, leaving his shirt dangling from Al's clenched fists as he steps away and clears his throat, shouting in plain English; "Sorry, the princess is in the other tower!" Whoo, Italian/Mario jokes!

A number of crashes sound from the floor above them, then down the stairs before Lorenzo appears at the door, completely naked, but for the sake of censorship a conveniently placed * insert name of a perfectly generic object here* covers his *insert Italian-themed euphemism for penis here, like 'breadstick' or something, here*. Use your own creativity, readers, I'm not doing everything for you. "What the fuck do you mean she's in another tower?"

"Do you want a cupcake?" Oliver asks.

"No!" Lorenzo snaps.

"Now that everyone's back together, I'm going to collect Yao and Peter," Nikolai says openly.

"Did you really have to get me out of bed to tell me that?" Lorenzo demands, "I was getting laid, and it was fucking amazing!" Gilbert grimaces at his words.

"Don't forget again," Al smirks.

That kick goes into the ribs again, and knocks Al to the floor.

"Why do you even have to get Peter?" Al asks as her rubs his bruising side, "Ain't one not-nation enough for you?"

"Don't bully Gilbert!" Oliver scolds, "He's much more useful than you. You, dearie, are almost completely expendable."

Nikolai rolls his eyes, slamming the door behind him as he leaves, Lorenzo heading back upstairs to Liz, much to Gilbert's chagrin.

"You look down," Oliver says to the Prussian, "Have a cupcake."

Gilbert politely takes the cupcake decorated with mostly yellow icing until it looks like Gilbird, which only succeeds in making it more disturbing than it already is. As Oliver turns his back Gilbert tries to hide the grisly sweet, but a glare from François has him begrudgingly taking a bite of mostly icing. The sponge is red. That does not help the miniscule mouthful to go down.

"Do you like it?" Oliver asks hopefully.

"Ja, ja," Gilbert answers as convincingly as he can, but it doesn't fool Oliver in the slightest. But instead of reacting in anger like most people would expect of a gay Cockey cannibal, Oliver's face screws up and he begins to sob, tears flowing quickly over his cigarette-scarred cheeks and his lips pulled back to show tea-yellowed teeth.

François pulls Oliver into a protective hug, glaring angrily at Gilbert. "Shoosh, shoosh," he soothes as Oliver sobs into his shirt, "If you stop crying, I'll have a pillow fight with you."

"Wait, what?" Gilbert asks.

Oliver sniffles, and the crying stops as quickly and suddenly as it started.

"They're always like this," Seamus sighs.

"I know what else we can do," Oliver says to François, pressing their bodies flush together, "And it can involve pillows."

"Whatever could that be?" François asks, voice far too sultry for the question to have been serious.

"They're always like this, too," Tommy says, and Seamus pats his nephew awkwardly on the back.

"You're all just jealous!" Oliver snaps.

"Of what?" Al and Seamus ask in almost complete unison.

"I get to play with France-y," Oliver chirps, and François grimaces in embarrassment.

"And why would _anyone_ be jealous of that?" Al asks.

"It's fun, it make me giggle, and it feels _really good_," Oliver answers, giving an example of one of his giggles. Of course, his giggle is really fucking creepy. I could go into much more detail than that, but it's half past ten at night and I can't be arsed, so "really fucking creepy" is the best you're going to get.

"You need to feel good, just borrow a magazine from this guy," Al gestures to Lutz, "The pages are a bit sticky, though."

"Ew," Oliver whines, "Wait, Al, how do you-"

Oliver in interrupted as Nikolai barges back in, attention whore that he is. I bet he got that trait from Putin.

"Cupcake?" Oliver offers.

Nikolai throws Yao down onto the sofa, and takes a cupcake decorated with the Russian flag. I can't be arsed with describing the cupcakes either. Nikolai takes the cupcake, and gives one decorated with a Chinese flag to Yao. I don't know why Oliver made a cupcake decorated with the Chinese flag; I'm too tired to think of a reason. I should probably stop writing and go to sleep before this chapter gets any more incoherent.

Whoo, cliffhanger!

* * *

><p><strong>Yao is China<br>Peter and Chuckie are 1p/2p Sealand respectively**

**Yao, Oliver and François were all rp'ed by another friend of mine. Let's call her 'L Kintaro'. That's a good name.**

**I really shouldn't write when I'm tired. This shit happens.**

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	11. A drink on me

I have thought of a reason why Oliver had made a cupcake decorated with the Chinese flag. It is because… he _knew_ Yao was coming! Hahaha, I am a genius!

Anyway, back to the story;

Yao gingerly takes the cupcake, eyeing it then Oliver. "You are the ones Young-Soo warned us about."

"Ooh, I like the sound of that," Al says, "'The ones Yong-Su warned you about.' Wait, no, the Yong-Su bit ruined it, uh… 'The ones Korea warned you about.' That's better."

A scarf-end clobbers Al around the head, and Nikolai sighs. "Yes, we are the second player counterparts, as Yong-Su will have told you about."

"I should have believed him, shouldn't I?" Yao says bitterly, "But no, I was a typical American horror film protagonist and told my little brother he was just being silly."

"We couldn't believe Yong-Su for a long time either," Oliver soothes, "Until Gilbert died, we just refused to. We thought he was having some sort of mental breakdown."

"I thought you said you'd always believed Yong-Su," Gilbert says, shocked.

"I may have exaggerated," Nikolai snaps, "We've believed him for over fifty years, and that's close enough!"

"Calm down, poppet!" Oliver wails, "Eat your cupcake!"

Nikolai takes a large bite from his cupcake, chewing happily. Yao takes a small bite, predominantly icing.

"So, Yao," Nikolai says calmly, "We would like you to join us."

"Doing what?" Yao asks.

"We are taking over the world."

"I suppose I have no choice, aru."

"Really?" Nikolai asks, genuinely surprised, "I usually have to fight for allies-"

"Yeah, you and that Italian are fucking psycho!" Seamus interrupts, pointing at his heart.

"We do not use words like 'psycho' anymore," Nikolai scolds, "And speaking of Italian-"

"I'm here, bastardo," Lorenzo grumbles. His overalls have returned, covering his Italian sausage or whatever other creative euphemisms you came up with last chapter, and a scowl drags his face down.

"What are you so upset about?" Nikolai snaps at him, and Oliver shoves another cupcake into his hand, "I thought you didn't like her?"

"No, but Lutz bends over a lot less than you would imagine," Lorenzo snaps back, and Lutz just laughs as Lorenzo flounces of to the kitchen to make pizza, because sexercise makes a man hungry, godammit.

"Ich brauche ein gut, _groβ_ Dick, danke schön," he says with a grin, and Gilbert and Al whoop with laughter.

Nikolai punches Lutz on the arm, and the German simply continues to laugh. Nikolai leans slightly closer to him and says quietly; "I am going to annoy Hungary."

Gilbert stops laughing abruptly. "I heard 'annoy' and 'Hungary' in the same sentence, and I am here to tell you that is not a good idea."

"It will be fine," Nikolai says dismissively, "I know what I am doing, and you won't even be involved. Don't fret. Rhiona? Popcorn."

Rhiona skitters into the kitchen, skittering back with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn, fuck knows where she got that from and two bottles of beer. Lutz cracks the bottles on his teeth, handing one to Gilbert, sitting next to him across the settee with the popcorn in Gilbert's lap.

"Eliza?" Nikolai asks clearly, grabbing the pink imposter's attention.

"What?" is her only answer.

"I am wondering if Lorenzo has outlived his usefulness," Nikolai says calmly, "He is mostly a burden now."

"What? No!" Eliza snaps, shocked, "Don't do that!"

"But I can. And you can't stop me."

"You can, but that doesn't mean you should."

"I could just poison him," Nikolai smirks, "He wouldn't even realise what had happened."

"You won't do it," Eliza says plainly, "He's an important part of your 'taking over the world'

team, he'll just come back to life anyway, and if you do, you'll have to deal with a very angry

German."

Nikolai looks back at the German brothers to find Lutz glaring coldly at him over his beer. "Ich kann eine kleine Dick fahrt auf."

"There was no need for that," Gilbert says, nose scrunched up in disgust.

"Alright. But there is something else I can do," Nikolai says. Eliza and Lutz continue to glare at him, and Gilbert slowly edges away from Lutz.

"What?" Eliza demands after a long pause.

"I could torture him," Nikolai says as casually as a greeting, "Or I could torture you with him watching."

"Ich mag das zweiten das," Lutz says bluntly.

"I'm not even sure what you're trying to achieve anymore," Gilbert says.

"What's going on?" Lorenzo appears, freshly baked pizza balanced in one hand as a half-eaten slice is folded in his other hand. "What are we talking about?"

"Poison," Nikolai answers shortly.

"I don't like poison," Lorenzo comments, "I like knives. And fire."

"No shit," the Irish twins retort in almost complete unison.

Nikolai holds a bottle out to Lorenzo, giving Eliza a wink. "Drink, Lorenzo?"

"Oh, grazi," Lorenzo puts his pizza down on the coffee table, seemingly not seeing Eliza shaking her head at him warningly, or Gilbert's worried glances flitting between him and Lutz and Eliz, or the way the beer bottle is practically cracking and breaking under Lutz's grip.

All three breathe a sigh of relief as Lorenzo pours the liquid straight onto the floor, staring evenly at Nikolai with a small smirk. Lutz grunts suddenly, mumbling something about "_That explains that_" and Gilberts frowns in confusion at him.

"We all knew you weren't going to fall for it," Nikolai says pleasantly.

"I didn't," Gilbert pips up.

"Lutz, Lorenzo, come walk with me," Nikolai continues,

Lorenzo swings one of his knives between his fingers, "Sure, Boss."

"Gilbert, take over here."

"Wha…?" Gilbert asks, stunned. Gilbird stops pecking at a piece of popcorn to tweet in confusion. "I don't even know what's going on. You just tried to kill Lorenzo simply to annoy Eliza, and I am just _really_ confused."

Nikolai hands Gilbert Ivan's pipe, which Gilbert just stares at. "Annoy Eliza."

"I don't really want to," Gilbert says.

"Don't forget you are expendable."

"I'm the scribe."

"We can all _write_ you fucking has-been _bitch_," Nikolai growls, and several residents of the room wince at his tone, "You are _expendable_ now stop defying me before this pipe gets put _straight through your head_."

Gilbert slowly takes the pipe, flinching a little at the numerous dents in it, and pokes Eliza in the side with it. She barely reacts, seemingly resigned to her fate of being poked by a Prussian. PruHun shippers can take that statement whatever way they like.

With a nod of approval, Nikolai leads Lorenzo and Lutz outside. Seeming to know where he's leading them, Lorenzo and Lutz runs ahead of him to the shed, snatching up tools as Nikolai waits outside, scarf ends writhing and twitching, shoulders tense, hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly in angered anticipation.

* * *

><p><strong>I promised Redd Scarf a December update, so I'm updating in late November to be a dick. Hahahaha!<br>That's not really funny, since it works more in Redd's favour than mine... oh well.**

**A couple of reasons I ended up updating early;  
>1. My English teacher is once again off, and who the fuck wants to be <em>productive<em>?  
>2. I wanted an excuse to practise writing a fight scene, and have found a way to worm a random fight scene which will take up the next chapter. See the pragraph below.<strong>

**Basically, Nikolai is getting a bit stressed out by all this 'taking over the world'; it isn't exactly easy. Usually, his second in command (Matt) will tell him to sit down, smoke a cigarette and chill the fuck out before he gets like this, but Matt isn't here. So Nikolai's dragged Lutz and Lorenzo, having wound Lorenzo up for a fight by trying to poison him and wound Lutz up for a fight by trying to poison Lorenzo, in order to blow off some steam.  
>The fight will both help Nikolai relax and practise his magic. Lutz will probably enjoy the exercise, and Lorenzo will enjoy pretending to be manly.<strong>

**I own nothing.  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	12. Semi-unnecessary fight scene

Lutz and Lorenzo emerge from the shed, Lutz with a pair of scythes in his hands and a tool belt with an axe, hammer and a screwdriver hanging from his hips. Lorenzo has a chainsaw because why the fuck not.

The pair circle Nikolai slowly. The hulking Russian is staring at the ground, the constant twisting and writhing of his scarf the only sign that Nikolai hasn't turned to stone stood there on the muddy grass.

Lutz lunges first. Scythes above his head, he swings the twin blades down as he leaps, aiming straight for Lutz's head. Nikolai steps back, dodging, the curved blades digging into the mud where he had been stood. Nikolai slams one boot down, standing on the skythes and forcing them deeper into the ground, the other boot flicking forward into a kick to the side of Lutz's head.

The chainsaw revs up, Lorenzo holding it out in front of him, grinning as the weapon chugs away in his hands. Lutz reaches out, grabbing Nikolai firmly by the ankles and pulling, spinning his body around in the mud until his legs are wrapped around the back of Nikolai's shins, the attacker-twisting move aiming to send the attacked sprawling on the floor; perfect for turning a standing matching into a floor match of grappling and wrestling.

Unfortunately, the move doesn't take magic fucking scarves into account. The scarf twists backwards, folding as it touches the ground, allowing Nikolai to tumble heels over head and upright again like a casual backflip.

With a hound-like snarl, Lutz scrambles to his feet, dirt clinging to most most of his torso. He attempts to pull his shirt back down from it's position twisted up just under his armpits, but ends up failing and just takes it off and tosses it away, because we all deserve a shirtless Weillschmidt in our lives.

Lorenzo runs at Nikolai, swinging the chainsaw wildly. Nikolai swerves to get out of the way, jumping and spinning to throw a flying kick into the base of Lorenzo's back. Lorenzo slips on the mud, having to throw the chainsaw to the side as he falls to avoid landing on it.

Lutz has dislodged the scythes the grounds. He holds them in front of him, arms crossed and the scythes held down until the blades seem to be coming out of his elbows. He runs up to Nikolai, the Russian allowing him to get close in to him to strike. Lutz strikes at first with his elbows, made deadly by the blades of the scythes, then spins the scythes around to the more conventional way up for striking, elongating his limbs to be swung in tandem down and in, aiming for Nikolai's neck at a high speed.

Nikolai brings one arm up in front of his face, blocking Lutz with his forearm in the German's wrists. He ducks as Lutz spins the scythes and folds his wrists to swings the blades into the sides of Nikolai's head. Nikolai digs the fingers of his free hand under Lutz's ribs, and Lutz buckles down. Nikolai seizes the bulky blond by the shoulder and the belt, tossing him to land next to the now standing Italian looking around for his chainsaw.

The chainsaw being several meters away, Lorenzo grabs a couple of his knives, twirling them between his fingers as he walks sideways to the chainsaw, keeping a careful eye on Nikolai as he moves. Nikolai stands still for several seconds before surging forwards, Lorenzo just a few paces away from his chainsaw.

The knife in Lorenzo's left hand is thrown, Nikolai catching it in a bubble formed of magic. As the Russian gets closer, Lorenzo swings his right hand, aiming for Nikolai's face. Nikolai blocks it with the suspended knife, dancing tauntingly around Lorenzo as the two knives are engaged in a violent battle akin to a sword fight, Nikolai often making the suspended knife slide down Lorenzo's to nick and slice the skin of the Italian's fingers. Lorenzo is holding it back, angling the knife to keep pushing it away, swerving and re-angling the blade whenever Nikolai tries to slide the possessed weapon along his own.

Lutz dives up from the floor, the axe between his hands. He swings it quickly at Nikolai's arm, the attacked man having to lean backwards out of the way even as he tries to step out of it's path, the metal head missing Nikolai's coated chest by mere inches.

Lorenzo takes advantage of Nikolai's distraction, diving to the floor suddenly, the possessed blade going flying through the air and embedding itself in the wood of the back door. Lorenzo reaches out, grabbing the chainsaw by his fingertips, desperately wrapping his long, tanned fingers around the handle and dragging it closer to himself. He revs it, the weapon whirring back to life, the chain spinning around.

He leaps straight at Nikolai, who, with Lutz already attacking him with the axe from the front leaving him unable to dodge, reaches out reflexively with one end of his scarf, wrapping the woolen tendril around the chainsaw. Of course, whether the wool is magic or not, it's going to struggle in a fight against metal moving at about sixty miles per hour. As valiantly as the enchanted threads fight, they are torn apart by the Muggle weapon, Nikolai howling in pain as though the tearing fabric is causing him legitimate agony.

Nikolai kicks Lutz firmly in the side, tearing the axe from his hands, pulling the damaged end of the scarf close to his chest to cradle it in the undamaged end of the scarf. He spins, burying the head of the axe into the side of the chainsaw, the scarf-injuring weapon spluttering and choking into silence.

Lorenzo once agains slips on mud, landing on his arse, as Nikolai shoves the axe and chainsaw into him, winding the Italian as he falls. A kick to the face, and Lorenzo is laid on his back. One hand in the air, Lorenzo yells "Give!" and is officially out of the fight.

Lutz pulls the hammer and screwdriver off his tool belt, holding the screwdriver in his fist and holding the hammer looser in order to swing it about. He swings it up at the side of Nikolai's head, thrusting the screwdriver at Nikolai's ribs, aiming to puncture at least the skin, preferably the muscle and lungs too.

Nikolai catches both hands, cracking his forehead into Lutz's soft nose. He spins Lutz around, crossing the blond's wrists. A kick to the back of the knees, and Lutz is allowed to buckle and fall, arms still suspended above his head. Nikolai twists his foot sideways, planting his foot firmly across the back of Lutz's knees and pulling up on the German's arms, stretching him out until he's yelling in pain, eventually screaming, "Give! Give, Boss, Give!"

Nikolai practically throws him to the floor, turning on his heel to walk away, gathering up the scraps of his destroyed scarf with his hand and a little magic, and walking back into the German country house with a leaving remark of "You both need a bath."

* * *

><p><strong>Nikolai's fighting style here is based off my Dad's fighting style; mostly defensive, but very aggressive when attacking<br>Lorenzo's fighting style is based off my own fighting style; aggressive, but badly thought out and easily brushed off by anyone with any decent experience. We both need to work on that.  
>(<strong>I am going to take this opportunity to say that neither myself or my father go out picking fights; we fight through a martial arts academy in controlled conditions)<strong>  
>Lutz's fighting style is thought-out and well-practised, very meticulous, much like another German representative we know<strong>

**This was just to help Nikolai relax, but he's injured himself. Yes, the damage to the scarf has hurt Nikolai, because of reasons to do with magic. He's going to need someone he can trust to help him put the scarf back together. In a few chapters. He's going to be 'injured' throughout those chapters, but still capable of magic. Don't ask me how magic works.**

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	13. Italian w(h)ine

"Blue cupcakes!" Oliver shrieks, shoving a plate of the artificially coloured treats in Lorenzo's face as the tired, dirtied Italian slugs through the door.

"What the fuck!" Lorenzo yells, falling backwards into Lutz, "When did you get here?"

"I've been here ages," Oliver says, "You're the ones who came into the kitchen."

"Yeah, well, don't do that."

"Do what? Be in the kitchen?"

"No, don't shriek like that. It's fucking terrifying."

"But if I don't do that you'll ignore me, you big meanie," Oliver pouts.

"Because you're always trying to stuff those evil cupcakes down people's throats!"

"France-y likes my cupcakes."

Lorenzo sighs, Oliver standing in the middle of kitchen making it impossible to pass him to get to the rest of the house and, more importantly, the bathroom. "Have you ever thought he's just using you for cake and sodomy?"

"No! France-y wouldn't do that!" Oliver shrieks, "Would you, Franc-y."

A short pause. "...No."

Oliver stares at him for several long seconds before his face screws up and he starts to wail.

"Broke up the couple, oh what a shame," Lorenzo says, rolling his eyes as he shoves his way past the pair, Oliver crying into François's shirt.

"I need alcohol," François grumbles.

"Bier und Wein ins das Kühlschrank," Lutz says, pointing to the fridge.

"Yeah, but it's _Italian_ wine," François retorts.

"I beg your _fucking_ pardon?!" Lorenzo yells, "You French are just too pathetic to handle anything strong and dry! It's all fruit and sweet and red with you, and it makes you look like you had a lipstick mishap, and it's _ridiculous_!"

"Stick to pasta, little Italian. It's all you're good at."

"Which is why pizza, pasta and ice cream are eaten all over the world, but literally _nobody_ eats snails except you."

"My food's good!" Oliver pips up.

"Shut up, pinky, the grownups are talking," Lorenzo snaps.

Oliver scoffs in offence.

"Don't listen to him; he's being rude," François coos.

"I think you're both rude," Lorenzo grunts, "Disrespecting my wine."

"Aren't you two supposed to be cleaning up?" Oliver snaps at them. Lorenzo looks across at Lutz, still standing next to him, still shirtless, watching the argument unfold.

"Oy, Boss!" Lorenzo hollers into the next room, "Can I stab pinky and his fuck buddy?"

"Sure," is Nikolai's answer.

"What?!" Oliver shrieks as Lorenzo grabs a carving knife from Ludwig's knife block.

"Hey, François, still fancy some red wine?" he grins, "A hundred per cent French, I promise~"

"You can't kill France-y!" Oliver whines.

"Yes I can. I'm going to kill him, cut him into pieces and scatter him so can't heal and come back?"

"Is that what you did with me?" Gilbert asks, making everyone jump. He sits at the kitchen table with a beer and a bag of salted pretzels because stereotypes, "The other me."

An uncomfortable silence.

"Nein," Lutz answers shakily, "Du war nur begraben. In ein Berliner Blue Sag, wie du wolltest."

"Buried in a Prussian blue casket?" Gilbert repeats, "That does sound like something I would want. There doesn't seem to be a lot of differences between me and the other Prussia."

"Nein, gibt es nicht," Lutz agrees shortly, "Entschuldigung," he stalks out, closely followed by Lorenzo after throwing the carving knife at Oliver and François, causing the pair to throw themselves down as the blade embeds itself in the wood of the cupboard.

"Lutz, Lorenzo, I have a job for you," Nikolai says plainly as the pair get into the living room.

"Fuck no!" Lorenzo snaps, "You're already interrupted my sex once! Get Al or the twins to do it!"

"Can I beat Oliver up for you?" Al pips up.

"Yes." Lorenzo answers.

Al whoops, grabbing his nailed bat and dashing into the kitchen. He throws Gilbert out, locking the door behind him.

"Weren't you poking Eliza?" Nikolai asks.

"Oh, yeah, uh, my arm got tired," Gilbert defends pathetically.

"Anyway, I want you to fetch Katyusha and Natalia," Nikolai says.

"I'm getting a shower and shower sex, so fuck off," Lorenzo deadpans, stalking out of the room, Lutz following eagerly.

"Fine. Gilbert, you are fetching Natalia," Nikolai begins.

"Oh hell no, she'll stab me!" Gilbert interrupt, and Gilbird tweets in agreement.

"Fine, you fetch Katyusha. But if you touch her or upset her in any way, I will kill you. Do you understand."

"Completely," Gilbert answers.

"And Eliza, you are fetching Natalia."

Eliza simply nods, following Gilbert out.

Nikolai slumps down into his armchair, cradling his torn scarf. "Rhiona, vodka."

Rhiona hammers on the kitchen door until Al answers. "What?!"

"Vodka," she answers plainly.

Some crashing in the kitchen, and Al hands Rhiona a bottle of vodka before slamming the door in her face and locking the door again. Rhiona gives the bottle to Nikolai and returns to sitting on the floor at Seamus's side. Seamus and Rhiona seem to have 'swapped over'; Seamus's hair is now long and plaited and wrapped around his waist, Rhiona's is short. Sometimes they 'swap over', just because they feel like it, whichever one is wearing the trousers being Seamus and whichever one is wearing the skirt being called Rhiona. Nobody overly cares; they're both hardworking, no matter which one is wearing the trousers and which one is wearing the skirt. It seems to make them happy, they're not hurting anyone, so Nikolai leaves them to it, even if he thinks it's a little bit odd. Then again, most of his 'kingdom' could be described as odd.

François can be heard from the kitchen, shouting something along the lines of "Go attack Japan, why don't you?! And destroy that porn of his while you're at it."

The kitchen door opens. "Yo, big-nose! Japan?"

"Yes, yes, if it'll bring a bit of peace," Nikolai dismisses, and Al runs out of the house with a whoop.

The house finally quiet, Nikolai leans into the corner of the armchair, curling his legs over the opposite arm. He falls asleep there like that, his damaged scarf clenched in his hands. Oliver gently puts a blanket over him, kissing him on the temple and just generally fawning over him until Seamus and Rhiona drag him away.

* * *

><p><strong>Yep, the twins are gender fluid. Why? Because I decided so.<strong>

**I want to get to Allistair's chapter, because I want to make him quote Macbeth loads, because I need to learn a load of Macbeth quotes for my A2 English exam. But first, someone's going to try to be the hero. No,not America. So _who_?**

**Marilyn Manson song title in this chap. Story/chappy, you know the drill.**

**I own nothing  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


	14. Who?

When Nikolai wakes, it is early morning. Lorenzo is sat on the floor munching on some cold pizza, now cleaned, fucked and happy. Lutz seems to still be in bed. Rhiona is asleep curled up in the opposite armchair, Seamus sitting on the arm of it with a coffee. Oliver and François are asleep across the loveseat.

"So, when are your sisters arriving?" Seamus, short-haired today, asks.

"Not for another few hours," Nikolai answers, "Eliza and Natalia fight first, and Katyusha gets very upset and worried."

"What are you going to do with them?" Seamus asks.

Nikolai freezes, staring into space with his eyes open, as if the answer is on the tip of his tongue but he just can't _quite_ remember, "I'm not sure."

"You've got to weigh up the pros and cons," Seamus chatters, "Crybaby or dock fairy? Knife-wielding stalker or sleepy baby? Which would you rather deal with? I mean, you're the boss; it's not like you can fuck up, is it?"

"Keep them 1p," Nikolai decides, "Not putting them through that."

"That's nice of you," Seamus comments, "You're not going 1p on us, are you?"

"It'd make my job easier," a voice pipes up.

"What the shit?" Seamus looks around wildly, unable to see anyone.

"Where are you, little one?" Nikolai asks, standing up, tucking the torn shreds of scarf into one of his pockets.

"Not telling?" the voice teases, "But I'm gonna save the day. _I'm_ gonna be the hero for once!"

"America?" Seamus guesses, "But he's gone to get Japan?"

"Canada," Nikolai says firmly.

"Who?" Seamus asks.

"Yay! I'm remembered!" Matthew cheers, "Wait, no, that's not a good thing."

"Show yourself, little Canadian," Nikolai says.

"No! I'm going to save the day!"

Nikolai scans the room, eyes narrowed. Something pulls on his coat and he spins, punching out, connecting hard with something. Rhiona stares up at him from the floor, lip bloody, and Seamus facepalms.

Matthew laughs, "I'm not going anywhere near you. You're not getting your hands on me."

"You're getting on my nerves," Nikolai growls. The temperature drops, the floor and walls frosting over with branches of ice.

"I'm Northern like you," Matthew sighs, "I'm fine with the cold. Ice sport is the only reason I get noticed at all."

"That's the idea," Nikolai says impatiently, "Hockey match, one on one. If I win, you turn 2p. If I lose, I and the others return to our world and leave you alone."

"It's a deal," Matthew materialises a few yard in front of Nikolai, "But no cheating! No, magic, no ice-bending, and use a _wooden_ hockey stick, not your pipe like you tried to last time."

"But that match was so much fun," Nikolai grins.

Seamus produces a pair of hockey sticks from somewhere in the house. He is able to do this because coincidences are useful to the writer. The ice skates, Nikolai has to produce with magic. Useful magic is useful.

"Aren't we going to need a referee?" Matthew asks,

"Seamus can referee," Nikolai says.

"But I don't know anything about being a referee!" Seamus shrieks.

"And he'll be on your side!"

"Like fuck I will!"

"Really? Okay, Seamus can referee."

With that sorted, the match begins. And I'm going to put that in a separate chapter because I am an ass.

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><p><strong>This was actually longer, but I had a NikolaiGilbert convo that I realised couldn't happen, because Gilbert wasn't in the house. Whoops.  
>Then I couldn't be bothered to write more.<strong>

**Hockey chapter next! Then another fight chapter! Yay!**

**I'm sort of considering a side series of random crap (and bonuses from here (if anyone ever reviews with them)) that wouldn't fit into the story. Mostly because I was listening to Korpilaani's (don't try to type that drunk) cover of Ievan Polkka and was imagining a Nikolai/2p!Finland fight. And it's too early in the RP to try to fit that into the story like I did the semi-unnecessary fight scene.  
>Thoughts?<strong>

**I own nothing.  
>-Laurel Silver<strong>


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